We Are Bulletproof

"What the fuck do you mean stir counterclockwise? What does the direction have to do with it?!" Marge looked like she wanted to throw the wooden spoon at him, or at least gouge out his eye.

Bray winced and huddled closer to Jack. He was on the couch recovering, and trying to tell Marge how to make his soup—the chicken soup to save their souls. It was a cold, rainy day—an indoors day. Bray finally felt good enough to be out of bed but he was still quite weak, so he was bundled up on the couch with a blanket over his shoulders and a throw over his legs. He'd been reading through the instruction booklet of their newest card game with Jack, resting against him with his head on his shoulder and occasionally sneaking in a kiss or two while Marge had her back turned.

Although he didn't quite know all the details about the encounter in the woods, Bray knew enough to know that it could have been much, much worse. That man—Keith—wanted to kill them. No... he wanted to kill Bray. He wanted to corrupt Jack, it seemed, or to drive him crazy because Keith himself was out of his mind. He hoped, truly, that it was a one-time thing and that Keith had been taken care of once and for all. It sent shivers down his spine to think of what might have happened had Marge not come along when she did.

A few nights ago she and Jack went out with shovels and stayed out all night. Bray saw them blearily through his bedroom window and when he asked the next morning about it, he received several suspicious answers about... planting a garden and... making fertilizer. Marge had exchanged a Look with Jack before declaring that she was going to shower, whereupon she disappeared for a while. When she came out, there was no longer dirt under her nails and she was humming to herself as she relieved Jack. While Marge showered, Bray tried to ask Jack what happened but. Um.

They didn't have a lot of time to be alone together so. Talking took a back seat to. Other things.

Marge seemed to have decided to move in with them. Bray offered her his apartment—since he was staying with Jack while he recovered—but she declined. Claimed she needed to protect them, brought over her own things and set up shop. Jack's bed was luckily large enough to accommodate all three at night, which was nice and... not so nice. Hands went places under the covers but Bray was too shy to do anything with Marge right there! She wouldn't mind, or so he was told, but it felt strange.

And now, here they were. Bray being threatened by Marge. "It... just trust me. That's how my mom used to make it and—it just works."

"Can't believe this shit," Marge grumbled as she turned her back to them, stirring counterclockwise. "Thought it would at least be something like Cloud 9 or... lard or something."

Bray snuck in another kiss, a soft one to the corner of Jack's mouth. Ah... he really wished they could be alone together for even a half hour. They were a couple but it felt more like they were some kind of strange threesome. He smiled at Jack and then turned his eyes back to the booklet, which was trying to explain how the dice rolls worked, absently tucking his hair behind one ear when it fell over his eyes.

"You did say you thought it was magic, though~" Jack sang, looking over at Marge with her long-suffering irritation. What was she even complaining about? She wanted to learn how to make the soup for herself, didn't she? Well! Now she was learning how! (And maybe if she learned how, she would cook... on her own... without the two of them...)

He smiled when Brayden kissed him, then peered down at the booklet to the card game. Honestly, reading the rules made his eyes cross. He'd rather just get to the game and start playing and just use the book as needed. But Brayden needed to read the thing front to back religiously.

"Mm..." Jack leaned into Brayden and kissed him where the hair once hung in his face, over the eyes, the cheek, his jaw, before he rested his chin against his shoulder. His face pressed briefly to the side of Brayden's throat. And then... Slowly, slowly, slowly, he leaned in such a manner that he was gently nudging Brayden into the couch... His hand slid over Brayden's and took the booklet out of it as he turned his head to kiss Brayden. Not a chaste kiss to the corner of the mouth or to the temple. A real kiss. The kind he'd been stealing for days and barely subsisting on.

He pulled the blankets up over them, as if that afforded them any privacy from Marge, who was just right there, in the kitchen. Who approved of these damned open floor plans, anyway? Why did Jack ever choose this place? (Never mind if he hadn't, he wouldn't be so close to Brayden now.)

"I love her," he said to Brayden after another kiss, "but let's run away together."

Hmm... that was nice. The small flurry of kisses. Bray smiled down at the booklet but lifted a hand to cradle the back of Jack's head as he rested his chin on Bray's shoulder, stroking gently. At first he thought it was nice that Jack leaned against him; it was cozy and they were close. Bray flipped a page. Jack leaned a little more heavily against him and Bray glanced over, concerned. Was Jack tired? Did he need a nap? He'd been stressed lately, and none of them had much sleep. Nights were... unpleasant, sleeping together but not actually sleeping together. At this point even Bray was getting impatient...

Oh—man down. Bray looked up with his usual surprised look. He relinquished the booklet but the sultry kiss drew a little noise of protest from him, despite his body responding readily to nothing more than a press of the lips and a flick of a clever tongue. "Jack," he whispered as the blankets cocooned them and shielded them. "No. Marge." She was right there! And if she turned around she could see them!

But. Mmm... Bray sort of agreed. He loved Marge too but he also loved Jack terribly and he was ready—oh, so ready—to take their relationship to the next level. Slipping his arms around Jack, he eased his head up for another long kiss. "I think she'd still find us, no matter how far we ran—ack!"

The blanket suddenly flipped up, exposing them. Marge stood above them with a Look of Disapproval on her face. "You fuckers."

Ugh, no.

Jack rolled his eyes upward and heaved a sigh as the blanket was pulled up. He didn't even have to look to know it was Marge because who else could it be?! Dropping his head against Brayden's chest, Jack let out a sound of pure frustration. Why was she doing this to them? She had to know! They needed some time alone--together! Without her! But she was always there, omnipresent, always looming. It was going to drive Jack back to the bottle. Was that what she wanted? None of them wanted that!

Lifting his head, he turned slightly and tried to take hold of the blanket she'd flipped on them.

"What did we say about cock-blocking, sweetie?" He knew she knew--they didn't. That was what they said about it. They didn't cock-block each other. So why was she doing it now and forever?

He... he had to say something. For the first time in a long while Bray felt the need to assert himself and that really spoke to how far he had been pushed to his limits. All of these tantalizing kisses and touches and longing stares and trips to the bathroom were becoming actual torture. He would've had a better time being waterboarded than having to go through this!

While Jack collapsed against him and Bray held him close, he looked up at Marge with her crossed arms and frown. "Marge? Do you think we could, um. You know. Maybe have a-a few minutes alone? Um. It's-it's not that we don't want you around but. Ah... Jack and I... we..."

"No." Marge shook her head vehemently and a few wisps of hair slipped out of her bun. "I'm not here for fun you fuckers. I'm here to make sure nothing happens to either of you. It's not like I'm exactly having a good time either, okay? You're not the only ones with blue balls!"

"Oh-oh yeah. Yeah I know, and I appreciate it b-but..." Bray struggled to not offend her, since he knew that she was doing what she thought was right. It was just... that... he needed to get laid already. He needed to have sex with Jack to dispel this terrible sexual tension that had been building and building and building. Bray cleared his throat softly, looking to Jack for a little help.

Why was she so quick to KNOW all the things but the second things were Very Obvious, she stubbornly inserted herself where she wasn't needed? Not that they weren't appreciative of her role in saving Brayden's life, but thus far, they were fine. They were safe. And she could stay at Brayden's place!

But how could she not see they needed some time together? Without her? They'd scarcely been on two dates together. The one time they did anything vaguely sexual, Brayden was blitzed on wine--her wine!--and then they were hunted like animals and Brayden died (or nearly died--Jack wasn't a hundred percent on what actually happened there) and there were all these high emotions in the air and no way to act on them properly.

Was she blind?

"It's not our fault you've got blue balls," Jack intoned with a distinct lack of Amusement in his voice and affectation. This wasn't funny. It was never going to be funny. It was torture. "We wouldn't mind if you stepped out and found somebody to fuck your brains out. Really. We would be fine with it."

And then they'd have time to themselves and nobody would have blue balls. Voila! So easy!

"If your face wasn't so beautiful," Marge hissed, looking about ready to cross the threshold from low-grade simmering rage to towering inferno. Ah, but that was Marge...

"Ju-just... twenty minutes? Marge?" Bray looked up at her pleadingly. He just needed something... more than a kiss here or a grope there. Nothing would happen to them in the span of twenty minutes, right? And then they could get rid of the awful, awful tension and Marge could live with them forever if she wanted. Bray would be satisfied, he thought, with doing it once. But at LEAST once!

"You want me... to go out... and find a dick," Marge said slowly, with a kind of dawning realization on her face that unsettled Bray. "When there are two right here?" Her eyes on Jack seemed to be alluding to some idea that she was communicating solely to him. Through her thoughts.

"I'm s-sorry? What--" Bray didn't get another confused word in edgewise before Marge's lips were on his. "...?!"

"Mama needs to calm down..." Jack muttered to Brayden because he didn't want to say it directly to Marge, lest she actually do something to his face. It already took ages for that aching head pain to go away. One kick to the chin and it would all be for naught.

Jack turned his gaze to Marge, too, trying to match the pleading tone of Brayden's voice. Maybe if they double-teamed her, she would finally listen. Not... that they'd said much lately. They'd been kinda tiptoeing around the issue until now but it was coming to a boiling point. It felt like forever since anybody in that room had any kind of sex. Brayden most of all, now that he thought about it, since the being drunk thing meant it didn't actually count for him.

And Jack hadn't gotten off that night so...

"No, no you're not--" Jack tried to intervene because he saw exactly where Marge was going with her line of reasoning and no, no, he wanted his boyfriend all to himself, thank you very much and oh come on, please tell him she did not just moved right in and kiss Brayden right in front of him. Jack slid his hand over Marge's shoulder.

"I know you're as horny as the rest of the class, Margie," he said, putting as delicately as he could, "but we haven't even consummated this relationship yet, if you get my drift."

Not that it seemed to matter to her because when she was on a warpath, nothing could stand in her way. He used to like that about her...

"P-please no," Bray whispered as he pushed Marge off, shaking his head as if that would stop her. He didn't wipe his lips, though, because that seemed insulting and... and it wasn't like he disliked it. The kiss. Just. He wanted Jack's kisses more. "I--we--this--no." One-word sentences stumbled out as  Marge glared down at him first, then at Jack, then back at him.

"Fifteen minutes. And I get him next time," Marge said--to Jack. "Or both of you, it's negotiable at this point."

Bray felt a little like he was on auction, which he disliked but... fifteen minutes? Hope dared to spring in his chest. He clung to Jack and buried his face away so as to prevent further forcible kisses. Threesomes weren't a thing he wanted at the moment--or maybe ever. He didn't know. He disliked the idea when that young man seemed to pitch it at the cafe before. And Marge... she was something of a fixture in their lives but... he didn't know.

"But I'm not leaving so you two better get it done quick. And leave the door open."

Look.

Jack, he liked a good threesome. He liked good sex, period. And it was insane how good it felt to be fucked and sucked at the same damn time--he knew, he'd been there. Most of the time, he would be in for it. He'd be down for it. Jack wasn't possessive of the people he loved; free love, baby. But also. Also.

He really hadn't had a chance to be with Brayden alone. Properly. Just the two of them. And he also knew that Brayden was a shy guy. He was shy. It probably wasn't in his nature to be thrust straight into a threesome. There was something slightly encouraging about the fact that he didn't use his newfound tone of authority on Marge--Jack noticed that--the one he'd used in regards to cafe kid. But.

Again. No Jack and Brayden time. Alone time. Together time.

They all wanted sex; they were all kind of climbing the walls. They were all on the edge of desperation. But he didn't think they'd quite reached that level of desperation. Yet. Although Jack was almost fucking willing to take it. If Marge didn't back off and it led to more days like this, he was pretty sure even shy guy Brayden would be willing to have a go at it, shyness be damned.

Fifteen minutes, she said. It didn't sound like a lot. Jack didn't want time limits, damn it. They were always on invisible time limits. Why couldn't they just... have time to explore what they were, who they were to one another? It seemed a shame to him, that their first time should be when Brayden was too drunk to remember and then their official first time together was timed, with somebody watching over them the whole time.

"No." Now it was Jack's turn to use his own authority tone. "I love you, Marge. But also. No."

It was out there now. It had been hanging in the air for days. Ages. Nobody saying anything, everybody tiptoeing. But it was out there now and damn it. No.

Jack sprang up off the sofa, hand in Brayden's. His fingers threaded through his, tugging him to come along with him. To the bedroom. His bedroom. Their bed.

"We're taking our time," he said and when he reached the bedroom and pulled Brayden to him, he said over Brayden's pretty little head, "And we're closing the door." And he closed the door. And he even locked it. And then he considered dragging the bureau over just to keep Marge from breaking in but he knew it wouldn't stop her if she really wanted to break in. Sinking against the closed door with his arm still around Brayden, he sighed and closed his eyes.

"Oh my god, can we just take a second." One fucking second. And then his hand was on Brayden's cheek and his lips were on his, a kiss that followed the path of the last one but this time with more... promise laced in between each kiss that came after it. He had no idea if Marge would actually count the minutes or if she'd leave them to it for as long as they needed but he wasn't actually willing to take the chance.

Clothes were coming off. Hands were being... handsy. And once he'd stepped out of his pants, he was maneuvering them to the edge of the bed, tipping Brayden over onto it and climbing over him. And the kisses? The kisses didn't stop. They grew, really, in intensity and in number. His hand slipped between Brayden's legs. He nuzzled Brayden, his cheek, his throat, the side of his beautiful head.

"Remember everything this time," he whispered. Because god fucking knew when they'd have another shot at it.

"Ahh..." They were going to be murdered in their sleep tonight. Marge had that look about her that said maybe she could 'make fertilizer' again if she had to--which Bray eventually realized probably meant she'd gone and buried a body somewhere deep in the woods. This time, two bodies.

Bray went with it because he had already resigned himself to the fact that if he had to die, he'd go along with it peacefully. At least this way he'd have one beautiful moment of intimacy with Jack before shit hit the fan. He smiled apologetically, actually apologized to Marge, apologized again at the door just before Jack closed and locked it, and... And he still felt Marge's glare through the locked door.

But that was okay. She wouldn't burst in on them. He thought that what she said was desperate talk--the real Marge, she was usually the one encouraging them before things went weird in the woods. And she gave him the wine, didn't she? Didn't that mean she wanted him and Jack to... consummate their relationship? Nearly losing him sent her protective instincts into overdrive but he was sure she'd calm down. Eventually.

Ah, well. That was a thought for later.

Right now...

"Jack?" This was all very... new to Bray. He wasn't actually used to someone wanting him so badly in any way, much less in a sexual way. And--not only Jack. Marge? Her too? But there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted Jack, first and foremost. Always. His heart didn't tell tales; he knew that his first time in three years would be a giant disappointment if it wasn't Jack. And only Jack.

"I'm s--" he began, but thankfully Jack stopped the apology with a kiss. Then another kiss, then more kisses on top of that. Bray's hands were at his sides too, at first content to just hold him and bask in the moment... and then growing a little bolder. A little less content to be idle. He helped take clothes off too, shyly avoiding staring down--he stared up instead into Jack's handsome face and beautiful hazel eyes.

"I love you," he whispered between the hungry kisses as his own hands took their cue from Jack's. He dared to let them slip low, over the curve of a buttock. Ah... he was doing it. He touched. He maybe groped a little; he couldn't help it, his fingers had minds of their own. "I--yes. Everything." Bray's face was molten lava but the heat in his stomach was worse with Jack's hand on him. He swallowed hard and tentatively touched Jack too, as some flash of memory brought him back to that drunken night when he touched Jack like this...

"Please, can we...?" Bray kissed him again in desperation. His legs parted of their own accord as restlessness took hold. He was so ready. Had been ready for days. Weeks maybe.

"We can."

Who could say no to that face? Or that tone? Or... anything that Brayden did, really. It was kind of a wonder that Brayden stayed single for so long. Nobody else was looking at him? Noticing that light in him? Well, other than Marge but she and Brayden probably never would have crossed paths if Jack didn't act as the bridge. Maybe if there was magic, there was also fate.

"We will."

But even if fate existed, Jack was forging his own fate. Like this one... right... here. Right in that tender place behind Brayden's ear. Right on his temple and his cheek. Right on his pleading mouth. ...right between the legs. They were in Jack's domain now; there was plenty of everything they could ever need for a good time. Lack of lube wouldn't stop him now.

As much as he wanted it and as much as he knew Brayden wanted it--god, how he must have wanted it--Jack wasn't taking chances. It couldn't hurt. He couldn't hurt him. (Unless he wanted it to hurt but that was a subject for another time and place.) Three years saw Brayden into this state of need and dissatisfaction. Jack couldn't even really imagine it; he never let it go that long without at least some kind of physical comfort. And he had to admit, it had only been worse since he'd fallen in love with Brayden. He really wanted him. For too long, it was nothing but creative thoughts and his imagination.

Brayden was warm--hardly a surprise. Warm and tight but inviting. Not... scared. Maybe a little nervous but Jack's fingers finessed their way to coaxing Brayden open for him. Tickled that little knot inside of him, a promise, not a tease. Don't be too impatient. (He still felt like maybe he was--his heart wouldn't stop beating a little too fast but he did his best.)

It felt as if every trick he learned was meant to be played out in this moment. The kind of flick of the wrist, turn of the finger that could drive a man wild, the sort of playful nibbles at the base of his throat that made a man restless as those gentle nibbles and kisses led to a nipple. Timing was everything. As his tongue slid over a nipple, he replaced skillful fingers with the tip of his cock. Now those fingers were back on Brayden's, taut and ready. More than ready.

As he slid inside, his teeth and his tongue did this marvelous trick he learned from--it didn't even matter who anymore--against Brayden's nipple. Then it was all tongue and his head rose up to capture a waiting mouth. He whispered his love against those lips as his body slowly met Brayden's for the first time and he felt... such joy and elation, like fireworks in his soul, lighting him up from the inside out. They fit like they were perfectly crafted to join in this way, just like their fingers and their palms, the way Brayden's height aligned with his just so, in a way that he could cradle his head to the hollow of his shoulder and kiss him on the side of the head.

He said it again, that he loved him, when his lungs screamed for air and his lips brushed the tip of Brayden's nose and the bridge of it and the place between his eyes and his forehead. The rhythm they danced to was also just so--not too fast as to spoil the moment, not too slow as to drive them out of their minds. It was warm and comfortable and loving, just as their kisses were, and their embraces.

Another series of kisses and he was spinning out, love drunk, the rhythm a little more erratic, harder to control. And his hand still stroked Brayden, explored the way he felt, again like it was all meant to be. They were... art. They were... music. Beauty.

Jack dropped his head against Brayden's shoulder, burying his face in his throat, his scent, his skin. The rhythm was at its height, the heat overwhelming, cresting, crashing over him like a force of nature. Brayden's name was on his lips, his taste was on his tongue, but most importantly... he was a part of him now. Inside. His entire body and even his soul seemed to shake for a moment. And then with a final shudder, he felt more at peace than he ever felt in his entire life. It felt exactly like the french said; la petite mort--a little death. Sweet exaltation. Like his whole life just passed before his eyes in a blink.

Whatever he'd given away, whatever he lost, was now a part of Brayden. That's how it felt. "I love you," he whispered again, again, again. 

"Please... please..."

If there was pain, if it ever hurt at any point, Bray didn't remember it. He didn't remember anything that Jack did in a negative light—and truthfully there was so very little that Jack did even normally that Bray found unpleasant. In all their time together, the one time he truly got upset was over the lockpicks. That was it. And even then, he had been exasperated more than he had been angry.

Jack could do no wrong. Not tonight, not ever.

The tenderness with which he coaxed Bray's body open was an art form. His fingers and lips painted fire all across Bray's body, leaving him trembling, writhing, his body weeping for Jack and so, so ready to accept him in his entirety. It hardly seemed possible that this was finally happening and yet he lived so very much in the moment. He didn't over-think. He didn't think. He felt. His body responded eagerly in its newfound sexual freedom, no longer taking directive from Bray's insecurities and doubts.

There was almost too much stimulus but Bray found a way to take all of it in. All the textures and tastes, the way Jack's body felt so warm and so alive above him. The slick, wet warmth of a tongue at his nipple made him groan; a fingertip brushing that sensitive, intimate spot deep inside made him cry out Jack's name. He clung tight, bucking into Jack and then confusedly writhing away when the pleasure grew to be too much. Then back again, kissing him, pulling at him so that he could bury himself deeper, deeper inside where their cores touched and connected.

Something wrapped around his heart, too. Love had always been there but it was unfocused and without direction. Now, as their bodies merged, that love narrowed down to one: Jack. He couldn't even begin to imagine loving another person this way, with his entire being, with every fibre of his soul and spirit. It felt as if he had been made for this very moment in time, for this one single achingly beautiful act of love. They didn't have sex; they made love. And that was why there was no pain, because the love that wrapped around him protected him.

Words didn't seem to be able to do his feelings justice so he said nothing. He absorbed Jack's love and he loved him in return, no less fiercely but in his own way. His lips brushed the tip of an ear, a jaw, the corner of an eye—whatever came within range. His hands swept up the length of Jack's back and then down again, skirting past the small of his back, over the swell of his ass. Bray led with his nails for a brief moment when Jack struck that secret spot inside that made his toes curl and he threw back his head with an agonized, ecstatic moan. Please... please... please... He wanted this sweet torment to never end.

But three years was a long time and his body was primed to fall into that little pleasant death that awaited him. Bray didn't try to hold back; he understood that this moment was his moment. Their moment. That no matter what he did, he could do no wrong. Not with Jack. So he let go and he let his body's natural instincts take over, heels digging hard into the mattress, one hand clutching the sheets and the other in Jack's hair clenching reflexively.

Ahhh... Bliss.

Completion.

Bray laid there panting; his lungs were on fire. It felt like he hadn't taken a single breath in the entire time that they were making love and now he was only just catching up. He held on to Jack with shaking arms and let out a delirious little laugh.

Jack let out a delirious laugh, too. He couldn't help himself.

Never in his life had he felt such... love. Such deep affection. And Jack loved. He thought he did, anyway. He loved people before Brayden but those loves felt so shallow in comparison to this. To this moment. To this man. Oh, to this man. Even in the sweet afterglow, he couldn't stop smiling. Couldn't stop touching. This time, brushing his thumb across Brayden's cheek, cupping his face. Kissing him. Not an overly deep kiss, not overly involved. Just a connection, lips to lips. Love to love. A form of communication he never knew existed.

How did he go so far in life without this? This was what wars were fought for. This was what changed the world. This was what love really was. Real love. Genuine, actual love. His delirious little laugh trailed off as he rolled over and dropped down beside Brayden, curling his body around him. Legs around legs, an arm around his waist, a hand at his chest.

"Brayden," he said, just to taste his name. The hand on Brayden's chest, slid over the place where his heart beat and he could feel it. Didn't they beat at just the same time? Like they were two parts of a whole... Jack could have cried--all of his life he just wanted this. A love that transcended everything else. Every ugly thing in the world, every ugly thing he thought he did. All he wanted was to love somebody with every part of himself, somebody that loved him with their whole heart. And here he was. Finally. Finally.

"I think," he said quietly, as his breathing grew steadier and the moment between them became calm and it was just the two of them intertwined around one another. "You've broken me," he said, but he said it almost triumphantly as he laid a kiss against Brayden's cheek. "I'll never love anybody the way I love you, Brayden." What's more... "I never want to."

"Hm." He loved that little noise Jack made when he was thinking. Hm. Bray cracked open an eye, cracked a smile at his lover. They were lovers now, truly and... officially. Making love meant that they had consummated their relationship and now they were A Couple. No doubting, no questioning. The kind of safety and security that came with being loved was overwhelming and Bray had to just lay there and soak it all in—soak all the love in.

He was loved.

"Oh." He broke Jack? Alarm—but it died away as quickly as it surfaced, seeing that Jack wasn't in pain. In fact he was glowing. Ah, that after-sex glow. Bray heard about it in passing but he never knew it was... literal. A literal glow? Was that really what they meant? He blinked and it was gone but... but he swore he saw it. A real glow, a golden halo outlining Jack, its light covering him and covering Bray, too, everywhere they touched.

Magic.

"You're the definition of love," he whispered back, still in half a daze over the glow he saw. Bray turned into Jack and kissed him again, long, slow, deep. "I love you so much." So much that he was willing to die for Jack, and if that wasn't true love then nothing was. Nothing could ever be true love if that meant nothing to both of them. Bray pressed his lips to the hollow at Jack's throat, emulating something Jack did to him earlier—but in a far less erotic way. His was a simple, affectionate kiss.

"I hope you didn't swallow all of it this time!" Marge's slightly muffled voice carried into the bedroom.

Bray stiffened. Marge. Swallow all of it... His face heated up but he laughed again, still deliriously—for a vastly different reason. "Do we have to go out? Ever?" He whispered to Jack even though Marge couldn't hear them. Bray clung tightly to him as something buzzed on the ground—it sounded like a phone. Hm. The world at large started coming back to them now, which was a real shame.

"Am I?" he asked, because he wanted to hear it again and because he didn't know yet if he really believed in it. Maybe if he heard it a thousand times. Maybe if he lived with it sitting in his heart for a while. The darkness he felt overwhelming him for so long felt... lifted. As if the night had finally given way to the golden rays of the morning. It was never him... That... darkness. He still marveled in that revelation. It was still taking root inside, the realization that he hadn't hurt anybody, hadn't killed anybody.

Eyes closed. That little "Hm" sound that Brayden loved so much. Less of a thinking sound at the moment, more of a I really love it when you kiss me like that sound. He lifted his hand to stroke Brayden's hair as he opened his eyes again. See, even the love felt so tangible. It was a good feeling, though. The best feeling.

And then Marge went and ruined it with her shouting. This time when Jack closed his eyes, it was more as if he was trying to block it out. Was she... was she standing at the door the whole time? Jack didn't really care who saw him do what but... Damn, poor queen of his heart. She really was suffering.

"If we don't," he whispered back, into the side of Brayden's head, "she'll come for us."

And wasn't that a terrifying plight; if she kicked down the door... She just might, too, if they stayed in here forever. Or tried to wait it out for her to leave. Somehow, Jack doubted they could ever wait anything out against Marge. Her stubbornness knew no bounds.

Annnnd that was the sound of his phone, wasn't it? Jack tried to ignore it, whispering again, "That's probably just Marge again."

"Yes. When I think of love, I'll always think of you." There were certain people that came into one's life whose presence and whose memories could never be erased. They carved out their own special place. Jack was one of those people. Marge, too. They formed such a large part of Bray's life now that he couldn't imagine being without them. Their presence lent him strength; their voices raised him when he fell. To have found not only one person but two, Bray felt like the luckiest man in the world.

"If you fuckers aren't out here in five minutes, first chance I get I'm burning all your clothes, Jack," Marge called again, with an ominous clang that sounded like a pot lid being dropped. Or thrown. Forcibly. And with great annoyance.

Bray sat up reluctantly, disengaging from Jack. He wished he could lay there forever with his lover—ahh, that was never going to get old for him—and bask in the afterglow, but it seemed that their fifteen minutes were up. At least they... made love. Bray smiled, unable to stop himself. He leaned down to kiss Jack again feeling as light as air. Even his sore backside wasn't that bad, he found—but then again Bray did always have a high tolerance for pain. "I'm going to take a shower," he murmured as he slid his legs over the side of the bed.

"Three minutes!" Marge was throwing more things around.

Bray winced. "Here." He retrieved Jack's phone and handed it to him. A part of him wanted Jack to join him in the shower but then Marge might actually burn everything down to the ground—Bray wasn't willing to test her patience.

"Good," he said with a triumphant little smile and a cocky little tilt of the head. He liked knowing there was a part of him that would always be with Brayden. Not just physically, either. All the ways. Every way. And then there was Marge, shouting again. Nooo... Jack groaned and slid his hands over his face. Why was she doing this to them? Could they not just soak in the beautiful afterglow of sex and love and love and love? Mostly the love, although he had to admit, it was so satisfying to finally scratch that itch.

"She's really counting the minutes," he said in disbelief. And just because Brayden was handing it to him, Jack automatically put his hand out and took the phone. Once it was in his hand, he didn't even know what he wanted to do with it. Call everyone and tell them he was in love? Look, ma, he finally met The One! Tell everyone!

Jack held the phone to his naked chest but reached out with his other hand and held onto Brayden's hand for a moment. He looked at him as if he were the Jack from the Titanic movie and his Rose was being swept away from him. (Shut up, it didn't go with what happened in the movie but he was looking at him with such drama.)

"Fine, fine," he said, kissing those fingertips reverently. "Take your shower. If we don't open the door, she's going to kick it down."

He finally let go of Brayden, with all the reluctance in the world. And he waited until he was out of the room to look down at his phone, expecting it to be some threat from Marge. He half sat up when he realized it was a student. Hm.

By the time Brayden emerged from the shower, Jack was sitting, naked and crosslegged with his phone at his knee. When he saw Brayden, he made reaching hands for him.

"Ohhh, Beeee," he said in a tone that suggested he did not have good news. "Guess what?"

"I love you. Always." Bray murmured as his fingertips received the royal treatment—kissed, ah, so tenderly and so reverently. Jack had such a bad way of spoiling him! He was going to get big-headed and start thinking that he was actually worth all of this affection... Well, maybe he did deserve it. A little bit. It was so nice to be pampered and spoiled after being alone for so long, gleaning scraps from strangers.

The shower was lovely and warm—not too hot, he didn't want to boil himself alive. Bray didn't stay too long because a part of him was anxious about Marge, and what damage she might do to precious Jack. He got out with a towel around his waist and hurriedly went to find clothes to put on, only to find Jack lounging naked without a care in the world. Marge was sitting beside him eating soup, looking amazed with herself every other bite.

"Um?" Bray went over as directed, catching Jack's outstretched hand in his. "Is everything okay?" His private parts looked undamaged. Bray's cheeks felt warm as he recalled what pleasures those private parts imparted. Ahem. He. Ah. Needed to stop staring. Bray gently laid his towel over Jack's lap before sitting down on his other side and leaning up to kiss his cheek.

"Not really, noooo," he said, elongating that last word as he was kissed. Then he looked down at the towel on his lap and then at Marge like You see? You see how he treats it?! They'd had this conversation before! Brayden acted like his naked penis was some kind of affront to his eyes!

But no, no. That wasn't the issue at hand--for now. Jack would have to jump in the shower next and that meant clothes and that meant facing up to the real Problem at hand. Which was...

"Keith's not dead."

He blurted that part out first, he didn't know why; he was just--it was weighing pretty heavily on him. The minute the poor kid he was trying to rescue typed out that name... It was a common name, too. But just seeing it sent icy chills down his spine.

Realizing it wasn't the best way to bring it up, Jack tried to backtrack. "A student of mine contacted me and he's in... trouble. So I offered him a place to stay with us... I thought he was just forced into some kind of cult but it turns out he's part of that fallen fae group? And he knows Keith." He frowned. "And he kept telling me to shut the doors to my dreams or something like that."

"What?" Bray's mouth fell slack. "He—what?"

"Yeah Keithy boy? Not as dead as we'd hoped he would be." Marge was still eating away, looking rather too content for someone who had been throwing things around in a fit of rage earlier. "So what the fuck did we kill out there, is the question? And how do we get our hands on the real one so I can stomp on his balls and cram them up his eye sockets?"

Bray winced. That sounded... painful. But there was a lot being dumped on him now, that he suspected Marge had already had explained to her. A student. Cult. Fallen fae. That last one had no meaning to Bray, since his parents spoke so little about his fae lineage. It was like they were trying to shield him from something unpleasant, in the hopes that he would never have to come into contact with it.

"I—okay. Yeah. That's... not good..." An understatement, definitely. Bray frowned. "The dream thing, I think I can help. Maybe we can learn more from your student, too. Can you ask him to come over—"

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. "Professor Jack?" Someone called out softly, then knocked again. Bray threw a panicked look at naked Jack. Marge just kept eating.

Jack smiled as he caressed Brayden's hand, the one he still held from when he'd pulled him over. He kissed him affectionately on the side of the nose.

"I knew you could help with that."

Dreams were his thing, right? Brayden had to know where all the doors were, probably. Jack had no idea. He didn't even know how people were getting into his dreams, let alone how to stop them. As for the student coming over... Well... Jack was about to tell him--get back to that part--when there was a knock at the door. Jack looked at Brayden, who looked like he had just seen a ghost. Or heard one.

"There goes my shower," Jack muttered. He couldn't very well leave the kid to these two. He was the one who invited him over and made all those promises... Oh he hoped he could keep them; he hated to disappoint a wide eyed innocent kid. Removing the towel over his crotch with a flourish, Jack marched over to his closet. There was no time for dressing so he chose one of his best robes, slid it on, glanced back at the other two, and then headed for the front door.

"Hello, Raphael," Jack said, as if it was perfectly normal to greet students at the door in nothing but a robe. He opened the door wider to let him in, although he peered outside, half afraid Keith was right behind him. "Come in, make yourself at home, my roommate made soup."

Oh gosh, Jack. He—he kissed strange places but all of them felt so right when his lips were on them. Bray kept getting distracted by the towel. Or... what laid underneath the towel. He wasn't usually like this but—damnit they had just finished making love. It was bound to still be on his mind, especially with Jack naked! This situation wasn't working out for them, clearly. But also he understood the urgency of the situation now that Keith was back in the picture.

"Uhh..." He thought Jack would put on some clothes but. No? Bray folded the towel absently as Marge slid over to sit beside him, forcing the spoon into his mouth to taste the soup she'd made. "Mm... good." It tasted just like his! He smiled at her, then blanched when her head tipped up and she pecked him on the lips. Ah. Yes. Bray sat stiff as a board as Jack opened the door to a smiling, sweet face.

"Hello professor Jack!" Raphael stepped inside when bidden, glancing them both over with a curious expression. "Ah, the crack soup! Yes I think I need some... right about now." He lowered his voice. "I posted the letter, professor Jack. I hope it works..."

"Hello cutie~" Marge was up. "Let me serve you some soup baby. Come this way, it's in the kitchen." She slid an arm around him and steered him away, while Bray sat there feeling... feeling the chances of him and Jack ever being alone again gently slipping away.

"About that--" Jack started but Marge was whisking Raphael away into the kitchen for some reason. Standing there with his hand half in the air, where he'd been about to place it on the boy's shoulder, he lowered it to adjust the front of his robe instead. What was that about, anyway? Watching them go off to have some soup, Jack backed up and dropped down beside Brayden.

"He's a good kid, a little--"

He stopped talking when he noticed the dismay on Brayden's face. Sliding his arm around his shoulders, he drew him in close and kissed his temple.

"Hey... B," he said, about to ask what was wrong but... he kinda got it. He got it too well. Closing his eyes, he pressed his nose to the side of Brayden's head. Ah, he smelled nice. Clean. With his expensive shampoo in his hair. Jack's lips upturned into a smile. Oh, he liked that. All the little reminders of them being together. Like shared beds and blankets and shampoo...

"I promise this won't be our life forever," he whispered, so as not to be heard by the others. And it wouldn't because he was pretty sure they'd both die if that happened. All they had to do was get this business with Keith situated, help Raphael, and... everything would be normal again.

"Hey," Bray whispered somewhere into Jack's shoulder, resting his head forward against it. Everything was so frantic lately in their lives. It felt like a thousand years ago that he bumped into Jack in the courtyard and exchanged a shy hello with him. It felt longer to think back on that night they spent under the stars, on the bench outside, or the first card game night.

Jack was an oasis in the midst of all the chaos.

He seemed to instinctively know Bray's thoughts and feelings. Were they written on his face? Lately he was less guarded, it was true. He felt less like the Brayden of old; he seemed to have changed and evolved. Emotions were less restrained; speech became less hampered. Sure he hemmed and hawed when he was anxious or nervous or flustered, but even then the words got themselves out faster than they did before. The scenarios he ran through in his mind were fewer now, further in between. Jack had brought out the very best in him, somehow. He was really a miracle—and a miracle worker.

"I know Jack. Things will go back to normal." Eventually. Bray nuzzled into him and closed his eyes briefly just to savor the moment. Marge was saying something to their new friend, Raphael, and he heard a surprised little yelp. Bray didn't open his eyes, though; he held on to Jack for a few beats longer. "I love you." This was worth it. To keep Jack safe, he would do anything, go through any number of trials. This was nothing if it meant keeping him out of Keith's hands. A few days without sex? Please—Bray waited three years. What was a few more days or weeks?

He smiled as he pulled back, running a hand over Jack's still-damp hair. "I love you Jack Ripley." His heart was at ease. Jack turned out to be everything he thought he was—and that was completely wonderful. The weight that settled over him when he learned of Jack's sordid past was gone. It wasn't Jack. Jack was innocent; he'd been set up by someone cruel and twisted and... insane. Having that knowledge, it powered Bray through these tough times.

He heard another yelp, and then the young man came back to them red in the face. He sat down on the far side of the couch cradling the bowl of soup and sipped it with a shellshocked look on his face. Bray looked to Jack, puzzled, then to Marge who was smiling... in a distinctly Marge-like way. Ah. Bray edged closer to Jack. Ahem.

"And I love you, Brayden Smith," Jack murmured with a smile. He could have heard how much Brayden loved him until the end of time but it went the other way, too. He could tell Brayden how much he loved him, too. There was no way he could tired of those words.

The sweet moment didn't last nearly long enough, though. Before he knew it, Raphael was coming back, looking distinctly traumatized. Jack sighed and looked over at Marge.

"Darling, you really need to learn to keep your hands to yourself..."

It was obvious to him that poor Raphael had been a victim to her handsy hands. Raphael was still young and he was extremely naive from what Jack gathered during their conversation and what he saw of him in class. Now it made more sense; he was a fairy, right? He grew up with a different set of rules and as far as he knew, a completely strict lifestyle amongst other fairies.

"Hey," Jack said, reaching out and gently giving Raphael's shoulder a friendly, reassuring squeeze. "She's just overly friendly. She doesn't mean anything by it." He sent a Look at Marge. "Does she, sweetie?"

"She hasn't gotten any while you two went and had couple time," Marge said in that frighteningly sweet voice of hers, smiling at them in a way that made Bray sink a little on the couch so as not to be noticed. "So maybe she did mean it."

Bray smiled encouragingly at Raphael, who had gotten some of the color back in his face. He was staring at Bray, though, with wide open eyes. And when he whispered, breathlessly, "A real fae prince! Can I see your wings?" Bray felt himself growing uncomfortable again. He didn't know if he ought to show just anyone his wings. Showing them to Jack was an intimate affair for Bray; it was a show of trust. He didn't know this young man...

"Ah... perhaps later?" he tried to deflect gently, and was surprised to see Raphael nod and accept it. Very odd young man, he thought. Very odd indeed.

"Professor Jack, let's see yours! Your glamor is weak enough that I think you can take it off yourself now! I didn't think you'd be at this advanced stage but..." He paused to smile very sweetly at Bray. "He seems to have had a greater influence over you than we thought! Oh, well. That's the power of royalty, isn't it?" His voice grew a little wistful, before he drank more soup.

"Hey," he said, pointing a pinky finger in Marge's direction. "Not with my students."

How old was Raphael? 18? 19? Couldn't be any older than 20! He was too young to be tangled up with Marge. He probably couldn't even legally drink at her night club. And then Brayden was locked onto. The real fae prince. Jack blinked--did... did he just ask to see his wings? Was this normal behavior for fallen fae...? He looked at Marge in question. Because he'd been told it was basically like asking a person to strip naked in front of them. Not something a stranger should be asking...

Jack was about to interject on Brayden's behalf but Brayden spoke up for himself... In a way. But not really. Jack frowned slightly, gently giving Brayden's knee a discreet squeeze. He should have said no. No way. It wasn't something he should be doing with just anybody, especially somebody who was associated with Keith. Jack liked Raphael and he wanted to trust him but a small part of him was wary of his story. A part of him wondered if perhaps he was here to act as a spy.

But he told me to shut the door to my dreams. That seemed like well meaning advice. He couldn't imagine he would tell him that if he was on the enemy's side. Still. Better safe than sorry and he didn't want Brayden exposing himself.

"I'm sorry. What?" The idea that he had wings still felt... absurd. Glancing side-long at Brayden, Jack tried to communicate with his eyes alone. Is this kid for real?

"That doesn't seem safe," he said after a moment. He personally didn't have any hangups with showing off wings--he hadn't lived with them his whole life and didn't fully understand the vulnerability present when they were shown. But even so, it really didn't seem safe to just... take down whatever glamor was there to show off... wings.

"Raphael," he said, deciding to change the subject, "about why you're here..."

"Oh..." Raphael looked crestfallen again as he swirled the contents of his bowl idly. "Yes... of course. I'm sorry, it's just that I've never seen a full set of wings before. Not... not grown fairy wings. Not the pretty ones with all the colors..."

Bray smiled understandingly at him, seeing his contrition written on his face. It didn't seem as though Raphael was very good at hiding his thoughts—that or he wasn't trying very hard to conceal them. He touched the hand at his knee and then decided to hold on to it. There was nothing to be ashamed about now, holding his lover's hand. His boyfriend's hand. It was there to be held.

"Yes, why are you here? I'm sorry, but you... were with Keith? The one who tried to-to hurt Jack?" And kill him, but to Bray, hurting Jack was the more important issue at hand. He watched the contrition morph into guilt, and Raphael swallowed a large gulp of soup. Somewhere from the kitchen, Marge was watching him too, very intently as she leaned both elbows against the counter.

"I... I didn't come to hurt anyone," Raphael said slowly. "Please believe me. I'm—I'm not a spy! I was part of the group but I couldn't bear to be around Keith and the others anymore. All they do is kill things. They're true Fallen, you see. I'm not... Not really. Professor Jack, you believe me, don't you? I want to help you. You said you could protect me and—and I can give you as much information as I have. You promised..." He looked miserably down at his soup, swirling it again.

"Well... if you promised..." Bray's gaze was soft as it rested on Jack.

Jack didn't know what to say to that but he also didn't feel comfortable either offering his boyfriend's wings up to somebody he only knew as a student nor attempting to show his own wings. He had no idea what it might do, to open himself up like that. But if he was going to, it certainly wasn't going to be in the presence of his student. Maybe if it was just himself and Brayden--and Marge. But not here, not now.

"Isn't there just fallen and... not fallen?" Jack asked, unsure as to how the whole deal worked. What was a true Fallen, then? And if Raphael wasn't one, then... what was he? He glanced over at Marge, who had a meaningful sort of look on her face--just before his phone buzzed. Jack looked down.

"I did promise," Jack said, as he replied back to Marge. As the conversation continued on the phone, he started to feel a sickening sense of dread. What did he just let into his home? He meant well, of course. But... if this thing was a golem like Marge said... Was this a common skill... or was it a skill Keith was known for? Because if it was the latter...

He really wanted to be as far away from this thing as he could get. Especially with Brayden right there. Although Brayden seemed attached to the kid and the two carried on a conversation while Jack texted Marge, he couldn't help feeling... not good about the situation. After a moment, he set his phone between his legs and looked over at Marge, then cleared his throat.

Marge slid around the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living room. "Hey. New kid." Raphael flinched; he'd been in the process of describing... teacups to Bray, who was also somehow listening with rapt attention like he both understood this fascination with them and maybe shared a similar hobby of collecting them.

"I need you to help me with something." She patted him on the back lightly. "It's ah. Something only a Fallen would know, and I just need you to step out with me for a few minutes."

Her gaze slid over to Jack meaningfully. Marge raised her brow, then nodded very slightly toward Brayden--that was Jack's cue to remove Brayden from the situation. "And I think Jack, you had something you needed to tell Bee? Right? We'll be just across the courtyard--"

Ignoring Brayden's questioning, puzzled look, Marge took Raphael's arm. She hauled him to his feet and smiled at him again. "Don't worry honey. We'll be back in no time. If you really want us to protect you, you have to help us, right? That's how it works."

"...oh. Yes of course. I'll do anything I can, but--"

"Good!" Marge talked over him. "Come on then. Jack. Be back soon."

"Right."

He took his cue naturally, slipping his hand into Brayden's, then looking over at Brayden with a smile. As if what he had to say was something good. Honestly, he didn't feel great about any of this. All he wanted to do was open his heart to somebody who needed help. Clearly, he needed help. At least, that was what Jack thought. Now he couldn't help feeling... tricked. And there was always the fear that Keith somehow wormed his way into his home. It made him feel unsafe to be here.

"Come on, B," Jack said, as he got up, tugging him up along with him. His other hand swiped his phone off the couch and stuck it inside his robe's pocket.

Trusting Marge with the situation, he led Brayden back down the hall and into the bedroom. Oddly, what Marge said actually felt real. He hadn't noticed it in the moment--could he notice anything except Brayden and the moment of love they shared?--but now he felt it. Magic. It was everywhere, strong. He could almost see it. And it came with a scent. Not like sex scent, either. Did magic always have a scent? Was this some sort of awakening? It smelled... clean, of fresh snowfall, woodsy--of cedar or pine, crisp--of apple.

Jack looked over at Brayden, confused. "Did you light a candle or something?"

Things were happening that Bray couldn't comprehend. One moment he was chatting with Raphael about teacups—of which Bray was quite fond, as he had inherited a lovely set from his grandmother—and the next he was being led away. "I-I'll show you the teacups later!" He called to Raphael who was being borne away by Marge, looking distinctly terrified.

Rightly so. If Marge was going to continue from where she left off in the kitchen...

Oh, dear.

Bray turned to Jack as they made their way back to the bedroom—why the bedroom? Why not the bedroom?—but Jack asked him about candles and Bray blinked. "Nooo..." he said slowly, glancing around as if candles were to be found in mid-air. "Did—did you want me to?" Bray hovered closer to Jack as he gently closed the door behind him. The room was infused with love. He could feel it.

Ah. Yes. Love's protection. And they had made love here not long ago, hadn't they? Bray smiled as he dared to pull Jack closer, to slip his arms around Jack's waist and rest his head against his chest. "Your glamor's fading," he said softly as his hands locked behind Jack's back. "Raphael was right. I'll have to teach you how to cast another one." Bray looked up with a small little frown. "I didn't want to show him my wings, Jack. And I didn't... I didn't want him to be the first to see yours, either."

Bray wanted that honor.

"No..."

It was just a sense, he supposed. A newfound sense. Or one he never realized was there all along...? He thought back to Keith, about that dark sense of... oiliness about him. Was that the same sort of thing? So many questions; he thought he was intelligent, that he knew the world but now he felt like a child again. Everything was so strange and new.

In some ways, he felt a little like he must have knocked his head on something and this was all some vision as he died. Or that he was stuck in a dream world and he just wasn't aware of it. Pinch me, he wanted to say. Pinch me and tell me it's all real.

He did want it to be real, didn't he? Some of it, yes. Some of it...

"I know you didn't," he said, because he knew Brayden well enough by now to know that he wouldn't want to show his wings to just anyone. Especially a stranger. As for Jack... He looked down at Brayden and his cute little frown and he kissed him. Right on the frown.

"...how do I show you?" It was just the two of them now, after all... and who knew how long that would last?

Bray shut his eyes reflexively as he was kissed right between the eyes, where his brows met in a frown. Ahh... Jack and his silly, sweet, oddly placed kisses. Bray's frown dissolved and he smiled despite himself and despite the gravity of their situation. It wasn't bad, really. Not all bad. They were together; they were in one piece, whole, happy.

And Jack wanted to show him his wings. That was a great privilege, to be privy to another fae's wings. Bray was taught that, anyway--he couldn't show them to just anyone. He could only use his powers in times of great danger. Slowly he disengaged from Jack to give him enough room to work.

"Imagine your glamor like a shroud. Like something covering you from head to toe, a veil. Now imagine shrugging it off. Envision yourself taking off the veil and letting it fall..."

"All right."

Sounded simple enough. Jack was accustomed to shedding clothes. In fact, since he was only wearing a nice silk robe at the moment--and nothing else... nothing else--it was pretty simple to imagine that he was just... shrugging it off. Jack closed his eyes. Actually, he might have shrugged the actual physical robe from his body. It helped with the immersion.

But as he did so, it felt like something else was happening. When he opened his eyes, it felt... like he was seeing the world with brand new eyes, as if something had been blinding him for all those years of life left in his past. The world seemed brighter, more colorful. There was actual magic in the air, like... pretty little glittery dust particles and they were everywhere, all around them. Like flakes of gold.

Jack stared. It was... amazing.

And Brayden... Brayden, Brayden, Brayden... dear sweet Brayden. He was more beautiful than Jack had ever seen him. With those golden flecks in his eyes and that purity about him. Pure magic? Pure love? A mixture of the two?

"...did it work?"

Wings (http://www.raaseltine.com/rafiles/AphroditeClrBlk_2541_1024x1024.png)

Ooh. Aah. The robe came off, sliding effortlessly away from Jack's body, and Bray half-averted his gaze. (The other half caught a sneaky little peek at his lover's body, in all of its naked glory, and it was pleased beyond measure.) He really... ought not act like this. But Bray was such a proper person, he wasn't accustomed to seeing people in a state of undress every day.

And Jack was so beautiful that it... it felt almost a touch dirty to see him naked because the sight of him made Bray think very, very inappropriate things.

He was more beautiful without his glamor, though. Even Bray could see the magic in the air--that was... that was powerful magic. He couldn't do it with his own abilities, and he was supposedly royal. Jack, though, made the air shimmer and glimmer, as mana seeped into the room all around them. And his wings. Bray couldn't help but stare, feeling strangely proud--strangely choked up. It was like listening to an unexpectedly beautiful piece of music, or seeing a magnificent sunrise. The emotions welled up and choked him just at the back of his throat, a little bit.

"It--yes. Yes! It worked!" Bray stepped forward to touch him, at the side of his arm. And he felt the magic even more strongly than ever, felt it flowing into his own fingertips. It dissolved his glamor--that was unexpected. Bray didn't try hard to hold on to it, letting it fade away so that he could stand before Jack in his own natural form. He didn't know it for a fact but... he felt as if that was what his other form wanted. Strange to feel that way when he controlled it but the fae side recognized Jack's fae side, too.

Somehow it seemed appropriate. "You're... royalty too," he whispered in awe. "You-you have to be, Jack. There's too much power here."

It worked! It worked? Jack tried to get a peek at his own wings but all he could see was some kind of iridescent color of blue and gold in his peripheral vision. Knowing what they looked like wasn't nearly as important as Brayden's touch to his arm or that look of pure awe on his face. Jack spent his entire life longing for more than he had. And when he was old enough, when he went off to college, he preened like a peacock, a prince, a dandy. He made himself the life of the party, the center of attention.

But it never seemed as important as it did in this moment. What Brayden thought was essential. Crucial. He needed Brayden to love him--to still love him--no matter what lay beyond his so-called glamor. And part of him did worry that Brayden would not like what he saw, that there would be some flaw in his magic, in his fae form, his wings. Something to put Brayden off.

The worry was for naught; Brayden looked at him like he was really looking at the stars he loved and coveted so much. It made Jack's heart beat faster. It made him smile, too, because just like that, Brayden dropped his glamor, too. His soft, pretty wings, that fae version of Brayden that not many laid witness to. Jack reached out, touching Brayden's face.

"...I can't be," he said. Jack? Royalty? Jack, the kid who lived in squalor? Whose own mother hated him, whose father left him? Where was that royalty coming from? Were they not his real parents? He was finding he knew less and less about himself as events unfolded before him.

"Wouldn't we be related?" They couldn't be. Jack couldn't bear the thought of it. "We're not... are we?"

"Oh but-but you are. You are, Jack, I feel it."

Jack's magic was like theirs--his parents'. There was a similar feeling that seeing his true fae form evoked that Bray had never felt from anyone else before, not from other fae, not from any other being. It was uniquely royal. Jack didn't know it because he didn't know any other fae save for Bray, perhaps, so there was no frame of reference for him.

But the magic in the air. The shape and color of his wings and the magic emanating from them, it was unmistakable. Bray's head tipped into his hand, into his touch. he stepped closer to Jack too, until their bodies met, until their lips met. The thought of them being related--not brothers but perhaps cousins?--was painful. To have found love and then to have it be... some sort of taboo or unacceptable union, it was too painful to entertain.

"I don't know." His words were whispered against Jack's lips, meant only for him. "I don't think I care very much, Jack."

Bray couldn't--he couldn't live without Jack. All of those years waiting, yearning to be a part of something bigger than himself... It couldn't end here. It couldn't end now, just when they were beginning to taste happiness and togetherness. Bray kissed him again, a more desperate kiss, a deeper, more sultry, intimate kiss. Not the kind of kiss cousins shared. The kind of kiss lovers shared.

"You're mine. I have you and-and I won't lose you."

He twisted his head and took in a swift, deep breath. Brought his lips to Jack's ear. "You're mine. And I'm yours." There was... no hesitation in him. For once, Bray didn't even have to think. He whispered his True name into Jack's ear, a wisp of sound like the caress of a butterfly's wing. "I'm yours to keep."

"...I don't think I do either," he admitted softly in return. It wasn't as if they'd lived their life that way. Never raised together, never knowing one another until now. And now... Now they were totally and absolutely vulnerable in front of one another. Jack in every sense of the word, as if giving himself wholly to Brayden. Which... he was. He was and it felt right.

For a long time, Jack never would have allowed himself to be this vulnerable with anybody. It was one thing to be naked in front of another man--he was quite proud of himself, his body, he felt no shame in sharing it with his lovers. But it was another to show him his every fear and flaw. He even told Brayden his very worst secrets... even if only to find they weren't his at all.

But he had shared them; he shared the worst part of himself with Brayden. Oh, he tried to hide it but they were too close. Jack could never keep the truth hidden from him, not for much longer. Something about Brayden coaxed it all out. Everything he wanted to hide about himself. All that pretty armor, fallen away and revealing somebody smaller and less bombastic than he presented himself.

Brayden still loved him. Like he always knew what was lying beneath. Or embraced all of him, flaws and all.

Jack leaned into the kiss, hands sliding up Brayden's waist, holding him close. No, that was definitely not a familial kiss. It was the kind of kiss that ignited passion and swept the feet right out from under him. Jack stayed close even as the kiss ended, his eyes closing as Brayden whispered into his ear. It wasn't just the sensation of warm breath ghosting against his skin. It was the words, too. Mine and yours. Normally, such possessive words would have him twisting away and running for the hills. It was different when it came from Brayden.

Something swept over him, a familiar... language, a familiar thread of magic. It was as if when Brayden spoke his True Name, it threaded itself into Jack's soul, embedded on his heart, imprinted on his being. And without knowing how or why he knew, Jack whispered something back to Brayden, like a deeply buried secret that not even Jack knew that he knew. It felt so right when he whispered it. Some old, ancient language, a name less ominous than Ripley, less common than Jack.

"Ah..."

Jack's True Name.

It had a familiar ring to it, as if... As if he had heard it before? Bray's eyes slid closed slowly and he let the words sink in, deep, deep, deep into his soul. There it rested, safe, forever imprinted. Had he heard this name before? He felt as if he had, but not... Not in this body. In another body maybe. In a different time, in a different world. In different worlds. Different settings. But he knew the name, he was sure. He didn't know how, didn't know he knew it until Jack whispered it to him but it was familiar. It had been entrusted to him before, once, twice, a hundred times, countless times.

"Jack? Have we... met before?" Bray didn't open his eyes. He held on to Jack, hugging him close. He loved him so much that it couldn't be accurately described. Even love didn't feel strong enough a word for the depths of his feelings and emotions. And so it sounded like kind of a stupid question to ask now, but he wasn't talking about the present. Not even this... time line?

Did Jack feel it too? The way the words and names were all-too-familiar? It was like a whisper of a familiar strain of song or a line from a favorite movie, recounted so many times that it was committed to memory. To himself, in the privacy of his mind, he repeated Jack's True Name and his eyes opened. "We've met before." More conviction now in his voice.

"We... we are related." Not by blood--by fate. By history.

Jack didn't even know it until he knew it. Until Brayden whispered his True Name... somehow, his own was connected to it. Like the beginning and the ending of a sentence. They went together, connected in just the same way as their bodies did, as their hands did. It just felt so... right.

And he was glad for it. More grateful than he could ever express. It felt like such a long, arduous road to get here--to stand here and now, with Brayden in his arms. Once, nothing felt right. Now it all made sense, why it didn't feel right, why it could never feel right. Jack was missing key components of himself. His childhood wasn't just unhappy because he didn't have a family to connect to, who loved him, who supported him--although that was definitely a part of it. It was because he didn't know who he really was.

Now he felt it; a step closer to self actualization. True actualization, not the kind he joked about with Brayden once upon a time. And he had all the love and support a person could ever need.

"...have we?" Jack thought Brayden meant now. Or rather, at some point their current pasts. Did they meet as children, he wondered, struggling to remember. But Brayden was here. And Jack was all the way in Boston. Jack didn't even leave Massachusetts until he graduated from Harvard. He doubted they met but Brayden sounded absolutely certain. Jack blinked. Looked down at him, then...

"What?" He took an involuntary step back. "We are? We're actually related?"

He knew he said he didn't care but...

"No—no, we're—"

How could he explain it? Jack didn't seem to realize it, or he didn't feel what Bray did, not only in his heart but in his soul, in the marrows of his bones. They had known each other in another life. In other lives—not only one, but countless ones. They existed in different bodies, in different times, but they found a way to be together somehow, across time and across vast distances.

Bray blinked. "Oh. No Jack." He followed, drawing Jack down to sit on the bed with him—though not after sweeping up the robe... to place over Jack's lap. He was still so naked, and that was still so distracting. Bray held his hands as he gazed off somewhere into the closet door, trying to formulate his thoughts. How did he describe that feeling? It couldn't be accurately relayed.

"We... I think we. We're related by. Marriage?" That didn't sound quite right. Bray shook his head slightly, half laughing at how ridiculous he sounded. "I just feel like maybe this... isn't our first... life that we've lived together? I mean maybe in another life... we were together too."

Was it his... wings? Did they look like something Brayden had seen before? His parents? Jack had a number of things swirling around in his head about how they might be related in some way. Did it matter? He tried to tell himself that it didn't. Did it? It wasn't as if he could stop the way he felt about Brayden because of this new information. And they already had sex... so...

But Brayden was saying no.

Jack sat down beside Brayden on the bed, though he looked quite pointedly at the robe placed in his lap. Again... Brayden seemed ashamed by it. Except maybe this time, he had a reason for it. With a sigh, Jack stood back up to slip the robe back on, cinching it at the waist before he sat again. Fine, fine, he was covered up.

"Marriage," he said, trying to follow Brayden's line of thought and finding himself only mystified. Related by marriage? Jack's mother never married. His father left them--he didn't have to divorce officially because they were never married officially. And the "step-fathers" that came in afterward, they weren't official step-fathers either. Just a name they wanted to be called because it gave at least one of them some perverse pleasure.

Which was probably why Jack stepped away at the thought of the two of them being related. Even if they weren't related by blood, those men... Jack toyed with the sash of his robe. Lying back in his luxurious bed, he looked up at Brayden, who seemed to be struggling with his explanation.

"In another life?" He laughed it off with a little wave of the hand, brushing it against Brayden's back. "Is that a thing fairies do, too? Reincarnate? Like re..."

He trailed off, his gaze turning inward.

"You didn't!" a familiar voice said, trying to sound shocked but clearly, he knew him far too well. He looked... like Brayden but his hair was tied up in a bun, his clothes foreign. Something loose but modest, a bit like a tunic, actually.

"Oh yes, I did," Jack said from where he sat cross-legged in front of a fire, with a sleeping baby cradled in the crook of one arm. He poked at the fire with his other hand to stoke it.

"Wait." Jack sat back up.

BANG!

The door that he was pressed against was caving in, dust stirred up by the enemy, attempting to get inside. It was the cellar--Jack didn't know how he knew it. It was a cellar somewhere. Brayden--this time he looked so young. Couldn't have been more than twenty years old. But Brayden, he was on his knees beside an older woman. His... mother? A thin trail of blood ran down her chin.

"Behind the--behind those casks," Jack said, and he could feel the moisture on his face and the heaviness in his chest. Brayden argued with him but Jack cried out hoarsely, "Get behind them! Now! I can't--I can't hold this door anymore..."

And not a moment later, the door exploded inward, taking Jack with it. He flew back and as he hit the stone floor, the back of his head smashed like an egg against the sharp edge of a nearby table. The last thing he heard was Brayden, calling out for him.

"I think I'm having those vision things again..." Jack pressed a hand to his temple, then over his eyes.

Brayden stood with his hands in her hands. Jack stood at the very back of the cathedral, his hand shaking at his side before his fingers curled inward. The two were pronounced husband and wife and Brayden... he stepped forward with his beautiful smile and his beautiful eyes on somebody else. And she was smiling, too, right before they kissed. Jack's mouth was a thin line before he looked away, hair in his eyes.

As the audience clapped for the newly wed pair, Jack turned and left the chamber.

"Not always..." he said, feeling his chest squeeze tight with the realization that there might have been a timeline when his feelings were wholly unrequited. "I don't think we always made it together."

Wh-what? Why did Jack always Look at him a certain disapproving way when he tried to help him cover up? Granted, Jack was comfortable with nudity, Bray sensed, but other people—other easily distracted people who hadn't had a proper lover in three years—maybe needed a bit of protection. As if nudity could be used as a weapon... But if anyone could do it, it would be Jack.

Bray sighed and as Jack laid back with an airy, disbelieving laugh, he shook his head. He was serious here! They—

Visions. Vivid, colorful visions flashed before his eyes. Bray laying down on a small cot cradling a baby in his arms, while Jack busied himself stirring the fire of their tiny hut. Jack with long hair, laughing in that carefree manner of his as their ship skimmed the turbulent waters, while Bray clung to the bow and tried his best to stop looking as green as he felt inside. A cave, its interior marbled by the reflection of light off of the surface of a deep, icy pool and two young men holding one another in the throes of passion...

Lives past, lives that they shared with and without each other, played out in front of him. Bray gasped and hunched forward with his head held in both hands, inundated by visions. It was too much—there was an overload of... of everything. Memories, scents, sounds, sensations. "St-stop! Jack!" He cried out, shaking and curling in on himself as if to protect against the onslaught. His wings folded around him like a cocoon too, but the visions didn't stop. They kept swirling around and around in his mind, overwhelming him with pain and pleasure and happiness and despair, defeat, fear, anger—so many emotions, too many to be named.

"Jack!"

"How?"

He didn't know how to make it stop. But it was... a lot. Too much. Like hundreds of lives being dumped onto them all at once. Jack tried to reach out, to touch Brayden. But it only made it much worse. The flashes of lives and feelings and memories and love and pain and happiness and loss grew to an awful crescendo.

Jack immediately let go of Brayden and he leapt off the bed. Distance. Maybe distance. But no. Marge said they were only safe inside here. This room. With love. Love magic.

"I can. I can do this," he said, dropping down onto his knees on the bedroom rug. He grasped it and lowered his head to the floor. He imagined his glamor as a robe again. Only this time, instead of slipping it off, he put it back on. He put it on tight. Like cinching a hoodie closed around his face.

And then it was gone. The onslaught of visions stopped. After a moment to catch his breath, Jack sat back on his ass. He drew his knees up and hugged them.

"Brayden...?"

Bray let out a sound like a dying animal when Jack touched him and the visions grew so strong that it felt like they were overflowing from his mind. It felt like his skull was about to burst from being packed to capacity and he drew away like he had been burned by Jack's touch, unconsciously scrambling away to the other end of the bed. He fell onto the bed writhing, kicking his heels against the bed in agony.

All of their lives vied to make themselves prominent in his mind. The beautiful visions of them as a family, happy and united, living out full lives; the ones where they tasted only brief happiness in each other's arms, and ones where they just missed one another, where they couldn't find a way to make it work. Bray loving someone else; Jack loving someone else. Lives where they existed as enemies, their eyes locked across a battlefield, neither willing to admit to the burning desire buried deep down inside...

"Ah... ahh..." Bray couldn't breathe. His vision went dark finally as Jack's glamor contained his raw power, but...

"Brayden Smith. Prince of the Sixth House."

A tall man with crisp, wavy dark hair and hooded eyes sat on a throne of twisted black metal, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. His attire was like something out of a fantasy novel, all rich brocades and silks and glittering black onyx set in a golden pendant at his throat. He spoke Bray's name as though it was a distasteful piece of gristle, spitting it out of his curled lips.

Bray struggled to rise, facing the man on his throne. He sensed power—dark power. Immense, unfathomable power. Trembling slightly, he looked into the man's face and was struck by how similar his hazel eyes were. "J-Jack?" Bray whispered, daring to venture a step closer. The man raised a hand and slashed it through the air; Bray was forced down to his knees.

"You have tainted my son," said his high, cruel voice. "The son of Drake Nightshade, King of the Fallen. And for this, you will scream long and hard before I have you committed to the deepest, darkest pit in the kingdom. I will reclaim my sons, and the Kingdom of the Fallen will rise, stronger than ever!"

"Wh-what?" Bray's wings strained behind him as he fought to rise again. He managed to get to one knee, raising his head with great difficulty. "Who—your son? Aagh!" Another slash forced him back down, this time laying him flat on his stomach. Despite his struggles, he was unable to rise again. Drake Nightshade stood off his throne and approached; each step he took filled Bray with indescribable dread. Closer... closer... closer...

He screamed as a hand grasped onto the base of his wings. The touch was corrosive. It was like having a thousand daggers plunging simultaneously into his soul. Bray writhed and screamed again as his fingers pierced the thin, delicate film of his wings and he viciously ripped them out...

Bray came to with a shout of pain and fright. "NO!" Panicked, he sat up shaking and trembling and stared at Jack with wide eyes. Then he stumbled off the bed in a hurry, running for the bathroom where he collapsed in front of the toilet and threw up into it. His stomach was a nauseous, roiling mess; his mind turned in a thousand different directions.

"What? What is it?" Did he not shut it all away, slamming the door on those strange visions? Brayden looked at him like he saw the devil in him or something, right before he scrambled straight off into the bathroom. Jack could hear him retching.

For a moment, he remained where he was, on the floor, with his arms around his legs and a feeling of unease. He looked around, feeling... paranoid. Feeling... watched. But that couldn't be the case if he shut it all down, right? Or had he inadvertently made them easier to find, when he shed whatever was left of his... glamor, as Brayden called it.

Slowly, he got up off the floor, unable to clear away the vestiges of memories and lives that were long past. Jack was still a man of the present. He wasn't going to let all those weird visions cloud today, this moment. Too bad this moment was such a terrible one. It felt like he had done something awful to Brayden somehow. What with that haunted look on his face and all the retching.

"Hey," he said, standing in the bathroom doorway. "Are you... okay?"

As much as he wanted to comfort Brayden, he hadn't forgotten the sound he made when Jack touched him just a moment before. He perched on the edge of the bathtub and lowered his head. Why did he even ask that stupid question? Brayden didn't look okay.

"I don't know what just happened," he said. "But maybe it would be best if I don't... do that thing again."

"I'm--" He couldn't say he was okay because he wasn't okay. Bray got onto his feet and lurched toward the sink, to run some water to splash over his face and to wash the taste of bile out of his mouth. When he turned to blindly grope for a towel, he saw Jack's blurry figure perched at the edge of the bathtub. Bray wiped his face and sighed into the towel as he did so.

"Jack." After hanging up the fluffy towel, he sat down beside Jack. A part of him was wary to touch him again but... what happened wasn't Jack's fault. He had too much power out of his human form; he didn't know how to properly control it. How could he? No one taught him to. Bray didn't expect it all to unleash like that, too, or he would have tried to protect himself better.

"Hey. I'm okay. Look." Bray touched his bare arm; there was a tingle in his fingertips, but otherwise no more visions flooded him. He turned his whole body towards Jack, hugging him tightly to prove that everything was all right now. The glamor held his magic at bay. "See? It's okay. That was... it was normal. Don't feel bad."

It wasn't hard to see that Jack was wary of hurting him again, but Bray... was fine. Physically, fine. Mentally--well, there was a lot to take in and digest and make sense of. He didn't let go; instead, he let his head fall against Jack's shoulder and ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head. "Jack, I saw... I saw your father. Your real father. Just now, he--he reached out to me. And he... attacked me."

Jack watched Brayden with concern in his eyes, wanting to touch because that was how he imparted his comfort. And afraid to touch because... He really seemed to hurt Brayden earlier. The fact that he could even do something like that sickened him; it made him wonder if maybe not all that darkness inside was mixed in their by Keith's head games. That maybe there was just something innately dark inside that he didn't want to face.

"Oh," he said, a little sound of surprise. Bray touched his arm and nothing seemed to happen. Nothing bad, anyway. Just a gentle... tingle. The tightness in Jack's chest began to let up a little. He felt like he could breathe again. At least a little bit. His eyes closed and he smiled sadly, heart aching as Brayden embraced him. Jack leaned into him, his body, his touch. Nothing bad now. Nobody was in pain.

"Thank fuck," he said on a long held exhalation. But he didn't like how Brayden said it was normal. That was normal? To blast all kinds of strange images and memories into their fragile minds like that? Even now, Jack's head pounded from it all, from what had been imparted in that moment. Before he could ask about it, though--what was normal about that, please?--Brayden went on.

Jack froze.

"He what?"

He turned toward Brayden, hand on his chest, then up to cradle his face so he could look him eye-to-eye.

"He attacked you? How? Is that what made you sick?" He looked Brayden over, practically shaking with anger and fear. "Where? What did he do to you, B?"

The visions were... what they were. And they weren't all bad. Bray liked some of them, before they started to all crowd together in his mind. He sighed against Jack's shoulder. So many lifetimes together, so many of them apart... They really were bound inextricably by fate, weren't they? And there was comfort in that. In the fact that if nothing worked out in this lifetime... perhaps next time...

He had to tell Jack about... Drake Nightshade, though. That trumped all else. There was clear and present danger in that one vision alone that Bray didn't think could wait. They could revisit the other visions later but this one was urgent. His hand lifted to touch Jack's wrists; his own expression was never more serious than it was in that very moment.

"He... He tore off my wings." Bray shuddered uncontrollably as the image returned, and the crawling sensation of phantom pain in his shoulderblades where his wings would normally be outside of glamor. He even shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the discomfort. "But--but Jack he. He said he was going to take you back. His... sons, he said. He wanted his sons back so he could... I don't know... bring the Fallen back to power?"

Bray hugged him again, even tighter than before, as though Drake Nightshade would appear right behind them to reclaim Jack. "Drake Nightshade. That's his name. The--the King of the Fallen... And you're his son..."

Jack swallowed hard, staring at Brayden and then past him, where wings should be. Were they really gone or was it the glamor? Jack reached up with one hand to touch Brayden's shoulder, as if he might find some kind of ruined hole where wings used to be.

"He... they're gone?" he asked, a tide of both panic and anger beginning to rise inside of his chest, choking out his voice. Jack didn't mean to sound emotional but... it was hard not to, after living a thousand lifetimes in a minute. Even now, his head hurt like hell, like his brain couldn't handle the dump that had been dropped on him.

"Sons?" Jack questioned. There were more of them? He had... brothers? Frowning slightly, Jack attempted to cross his legs, realized it was too precarious while perched on the bathtub, and only shifted his weight slightly. Despite everything, though, he let out a little delirious laugh.

"Drake Nightshade?" he repeated. "That sounds like a terrible fantasy novel villain..."

"No, I put my glamor back on. For protection. I don't think he can reach me as easily..." But he could be wrong. Drake Nightshade reached him and took him over; that vision felt as real as anything. Bray shrugged his shoulders again, feeling tense and... paranoid. Someone might be watching them right now, or listening in on them. The bathroom was not protected, though.

With a start, Bray stood. "We have to get back to the bedroom!" Not that it helped him earlier, but there was marginally more safety there than in here. "And--yes. Sons, he said. If he's fallen, Drake Nightshade might be a name he made up. I don't... think most fae parents name their children that."

Back in the bedroom, he slid onto the bed and sat with his legs crossed. Bray breathed in deep, trying to calm himself. "I can... share the vision with you, if you want to see it." His skin crawled at the thought of revisiting that nightmarish scene, but Jack also had a right to know. If he was really the son of this fallen king, then he was royalty after all--and his brothers were out there, too.

"Oh. Good."

Relief flooded his entire being. Reassured somewhat, Jack ran his hand over Brayden's back, stroking it gently. Poor baby. That sounded like an awful vision. Was that what it was? Jack hadn't seen that one but he was half glad he hadn't and half worried about why it had been thrust upon Brayden. Was it because Jack immediately shut everything down at that point? Was... it meant for Jack?

"Ah. Right."

Jack slowly got to his feet and followed Brayden into the bedroom. Now it didn't feel nearly as safe as Margie said it would be. Was their combined love magic not enough to shut out such horrible visions...? Jack joined Brayden on the bed, one leg propped on the bed while the other dangled over the edge of the bed, toes on the ground. It was to keep himself grounded. He was feeling... less than safe right now.

"...should you?" Jack asked, though he did slide his hands over Brayden's knees. "If it's going to hurt you or make you... sick..." It was hard not to remember that awful, haunted look in Brayden's eyes as he snapped out of that vision. Jack thought it was him that did it to him. But now it was even worse... his so-called father--king of the fallen--had done it.

"Are you strong enough? It seemed to... take a lot out of you, B."

"I think you should see it. Him." Bray thought that if it were his father, his hidden heritage, he would have wanted to see him. Jack must have had so many questions now—not many that Bray could answer—but perhaps showing him the man and his intentions would put some questions to rest. At the very least... it would validate that growing up without him was, perhaps, not a bad thing after all.

He eased himself closer to Jack and smiled slowly to reassure him. "I'll be fine. I can make a hallucination. Not... the real vision. So we'll be okay, I think. Come here, come closer."

Bray reached out to take Jack's hands in his again and closed his eyes. He had to let his glamor fall one more time—hesitantly, but perhaps now that he was on guard, he would be ready for another... attack? Or whatever that was. The magic wove itself into his wings, webbed out across the veins and arches, and then the room changed. It was black again, save for the spot of light illuminating the man on the black metal throne.

They were standing off to one side like spectators to the scene. Bray held Jack's hand to lead him closer as the vision played itself out one more time; Bray venturing closer, the man speaking in that dangerous tone, the way he subdued Bray with one motion of the hand...

Jack wasn't so sure but if Brayden had to endure it, then Jack supposed he should, too. Swallowing hard, he nodded at Brayden's smile. It only reassured him slightly, but not much, like a fretful dog on the fourth of July. All the reassuring hands and voices in the world weren't going to stop that... feeling inside. Still, he made himself smile back, hands in Brayden's hands.

Should... he close his eyes, too? Slowly, he did so and he waited.

The black of his closed eyes washed away, giving way to a spot of light. Jack strained to look at what he was seeing. A man on a throne. A man that, honestly, looked like an older version of Jack himself. Like... the visuals were striking enough to nearly shock him back to opening his eyes. But there were differences. Key differences. This man's face was harder, the lines on them were creased and dark, as if this man never knew an ounce of joy in his entire life. He was more angular. There was nothing the slightest bit... soft about him.

Was this what Keith was trying to change Jack into? Some old, humorless bastard? Maybe he was in love with this man. He always did act as though Jack was pathetic. In comparison to... to this, he was sure everybody looked "soft."

But then the harsh words. And then the abuse.

Even knowing it was a replay of a vision, Jack came out of it sweating and feeling distinctly unwell. Now he fully understood why Brayden made for the toilet immediately afterward. Jack breathed in through his nose, deeply. Swallowed hard again. Then he slowly opened his eyes.

"I don't think Keith is our biggest problem," he said sadly. It was only stating the obvious but it felt so... heavy to admit it out loud. A part of him wanted to do what he always did when things got hairy; he wanted to run. But there was nowhere to run, was there? No matter where they went, where they tried to go, they were going to be hunted and discovered until that bastard got what he wanted.

"...and what about... these other sons he's talking about? Do you think they know... or should we warn them?"

Having lived it, even watching it a second time made Bray feel nauseous. He still felt the pain—it was real pain, too, not something imagined. In that moment when his wings were torn from him, he felt like he was dying a hundred thousand deaths simultaneously. Luckily it was over soon, and having the security of knowing that it was a hallucination and not a real vision made him feel very slightly better. Not by much, but he would take it.

Jack, on the other hand, looked visibly shaken. Bray slipped an arm around his waist, hoping that simple human touch could bring a modicum of comfort. His glamor replenished itself over him again, leaving the room quiet, still, save for the deep breaths that they were both taking as they tried to keep the nausea down. "No... Keith isn't our biggest problem by far," Bray replied in equally sad tones, and then kissed Jack softly on the jaw. More support, more comfort, as much good as it could do for them in the moment.

"I don't know who his other sons are but—maybe Raphael does. He said he worked with Keith, right? He could tell us why Keith was doing those things to you, or maybe who and where those other—your brothers are."

It felt strange to use that word—brother. But it was true. Drake Nightshade had said it himself, that he was out to find his sons and to restore his kingdom. Did that mean he needed them all assembled? Before anything could happen? Bray frowned as his other arm slid around Jack's midsection, hugging him from the side loosely.

"My mother... once told me a story about a dark prince. A fae who... abandoned the royal family, his own family, and sacrificed his soul to gain power. I thought it was just a bedtime story but... but maybe it was true. Jack? Do you think your father was that fae? In the story, he vows to create his own kingdom, and... and then... to-to kill all fae. To turn them into dark creatures like himself... A dark king..." Bray paused. "Can... can we... google this?"

"Hm."

There it was. His thoughtful sound. His gaze, far away. Brayden was right; maybe Raphael knew something. It wasn't far-fetched to think so, especially since he admitted to working with Keith. And Keith seemed to know a lot more than Jack would like him to know. He wished he could get his hands on that bastard. He could leave the rest to Margie but... he really needed answers. Not just about these mysterious brothers of his but... about everything. His past. Why Keith was so relentless in his pursuit of him. The... the deaths. He really wanted Jack to go crazy, didn't he?

Taking in a breath, he leaned closer to Brayden for the emotional support. But he remained silent for a long moment. Brothers. It really was strange to Jack, too. He'd grown up his entire life without real brothers, just assholes like Keith from the neighborhood. People who never had his real best interests at heart. What were his brothers like? Did they live terrible lives, too? And was there anything Jack and Brayden and Margie could do for them if they did find them?

"He might be, yeah," Jack said. The story sounded so real now, and not long ago, he would have thought it nothing more than a child's tale as well. Now... it just might be the origin story of his own father. He let out a soft laugh, though.

"I don't think we can google something like this." His mirth turned to realization, though, as he quickly slid off the bed, giving Brayden's hand a squeeze before he let go of him. "Hang on!"

He went for his phone, then gracefully dropped down onto the bed beside Brayden again.

"Let's see what Margie's finding out, shall we?"

Bray didn't set out to be funny but he drew a small laugh out of Jack anyway, which was nice. It was nice to know that he could still laugh in a time like this. That meant it wasn't entirely hopeless. But since Jack didn't think much of his idea, Bray didn't pursue it. He merely thought that perhaps those fanciful stories posted all over the internet might have some truth to them. If what his mother told him was true, and it sounded like a far-fetched tale, maybe others...

Well, if Jack didn't think it would work, then it probably wouldn't. It was kind of a long shot, anyway, wasn't it?

He watched Jack grabbing his phone, mystified until he clarified. Ah, Marge—she seemed to be in the thick of the supernatural world. It kind of made sense; she was a bartender, after all. Who knew what kinds of people she talked to on a daily basis? Bray trusted her not to lead them astray. He leaned back into Jack once he returned and scanned the conversation being held.

Until...

Bray cleared his throat. "Ah. She's. Would. You two?" It sounded like they were talking about—helping Marge with certain physical frustrations. Bray's face felt a little warm as he recalled her proposing a threesome earlier. He shot that down because at the time he wanted to be with Jack only. He still did, but somehow the thought of Jack 'helping' her in that department didn't upset him as much as he thought it would.

And really, Bray was not possessive or jealous. He knew that Jack wasn't about to skip out on him for Marge—not that he wouldn't have a good reason to! Marge was a special woman and she was very attractive by any standard. But Jack was committed to Bray and vice versa; they had exchanged True Names. Jack and Marge were both highly sexual people as well, while Bray was a little bit... late to the party, as it were.

Clearing his throat again, he turned to Jack, placing a hand against his forearm. He stroked it absently. "Would you...?" Marge sounded serious. Did Jack... Would he go through with it, if Bray gave permission?

Oh.

Jack didn't have anything left to hide from Brayden, but he still felt like he'd been caught cheating when Brayden asked him that question. It was a remnant of the past; Jack was a free love sort of guy. He had been so robbed of love in his life that perhaps he felt comfortable giving and receiving as much as possible, from any number of people at once. But he didn't know how Brayden felt about all that. If he was more of a one-person man--which he really seemed to be. And shy, to boot. Probably way too shy for threesomes and foursomes and...

It was just kind of hard to picture his soft, proper Brayden engaging in the same sort of sex acts that Jack had in the past.

"Well," he said slowly, trying to say it as nicely as possible, "If you're asking if I'd have sex with Margie... then... yes." Although he would admit this to himself--he would prefer there be another man in the mix. Jack was queer and not precisely gay but... he was definitely leaning much further towards the homosexual persuasion on the Kinsey scale.

Still, Margie was attractive and she was in dire need and he had what she needed so...

"Yes," he said again, "but not if you don't want me to."

He stroked Brayden's hair soothingly. All he could do was just tell the truth. They already gave themselves to one another as completely as they could. There wasn't room for hiding or half truths. He got the sense that Brayden would know, anyway, if he even bothered to try.

"She has a lot of options, she's just blocking them out because she's made us her newest project."

"Oh."

Jack confirmed it and Bray still didn't feel upset. Curious perhaps. He wondered... what it would be like, if he had to be honest. How it would work. Who would end up... doing what. And he didn't think of it now in a sexual context, merely perhaps he wondered about the logistics of it.

Bray himself... he didn't know where he stood. It was perhaps coincidence that his partners had been men, because women didn't seem to notice him. And he had so few partners in the past that he really didn't have any basis to say for sure which way he leaned. When he thought of romance, he didn't think particularly of a gender—more of a feeling, a connection with someone who took away that loneliness inside and filled him with love and feelings of tenderness and protectiveness. He wanted to love a person, not a gender.

"Actually..." Bay smiled. It was a smile that evolved slowly, but gained confidence. "Marge really loves us, doesn't she?" Her love was a different kind than theirs but he could see it in her eyes. He saw it in the way she hovered over them like a protective mother bear, worrying over them constantly. And she was trying her best to help them, too, which filled him with affection for her.

"I don't think... I mind. If you want to..."

He didn't know he felt that way until the words were out, but... He really didn't. He didn't want it to be any woman, though. Marge was a fixture in their lives; she was the exception, Bray felt.

"She does."

There was no denying that. She might be up in their grills and had a temper that could have rivaled a volcano but she loved them. She wasn't just anyone and if she needed help... Jack couldn't very well leave her hanging. If not him, then somebody. But he'd help her find a way that didn't involve a sad masturbation session in the shower. Jack knew all about those and they were terrible.

"Wait," Jack said, pausing. Because it sounded more like Brayden was contemplating it, not as if he were giving his boyfriend permission to be with somebody else. Like he was contemplating... being... a part of it? Jack raised his brows, not wanting to be too hopeful but still feeling hopeful nonetheless.

"Are you saying you want to...?"

Ah... he was giving Jack permission to go through with what Marge asked but it did sound like he was considering joining them, didn't it? And Bray really didn't know why he said it that way, either. He was fine with Jack helping her, since she sounded a little desperate. Joining in on the... the activities...? Did he... Was he that daring? That provocative? That adventurous?

Old Brayden Smith, perhaps not. Bray was no prude but he was definitely cautious in terms of what went on in the bedroom—if anything at all. Some called him frigid, others called him a tease, but he was hardly any of those things. He wanted sex. He wanted love. He wanted the two to be intertwined, for love to result in sex and intimacy. He wanted to be connected to someone body and soul, in all ways.

"I..." It didn't escape his notice the way Jack seemed hopeful. Earlier, though, Jack fought for their time alone and he practically banned Marge from the very bedroom they were in now. Clearly he wasn't simply in this for the cheap thrills, or to say he'd had a threesome the way some men liked to brag. Bray lowered his head, trying to hide his face with his hair.

"I think so?"

Look, he wasn't saying that Brayden alone didn't satisfy him. Not at all--and he hoped, in retrospect--that it wasn't how he sounded when he asked. Or that Brayden thought that might be where his hopeful tone sprang from. Jack could have Brayden a thousand times, and it just be the two of them--and that would be acceptable. More than acceptable. All he really needed in this life was him. All the rest of it was just sprinkles. A place to live together, that would be nice. A place on their own without a thousand adopted sons... even better.

That vision of them... together... all the ones where they were together, actually. He... he wanted all of them. And... he knew he had them all.

And maybe that was what made him so secure in this. Their relationship, their partnership. Whatever happened in any timeline or past life or alternative world... they always seemed to be in one another's lives. Jack gently swept Brayden's hair back.

"You don't have to say that for me," Jack said finally. "If it's too weird for you, I get it. Not everybody's into the multiple partners thing."

"It's not... weird." Bray didn't look up but he caught a hold of Jack's hand and he held on to it. "If it's important to-to either of you, I mean."

He was open to the idea of giving it a try. Bray couldn't rightly say that he disliked something without trying it, and if the idea of it didn't set off That Tone the way it did back at that Birdy Bee cafe, then he supposed... he wasn't opposed to it. The fact that it was Jack and Marge, two people he felt very close to, helped. If it were a stranger and Jack, no go. If it were a stranger and Marge, no go either. Jack and Marge together, forming the core of his new family?

Bray didn't mind that. It was another way of being close to them, sharing an intimate moment with two people he cared for.

Finally he looked up with a hesitant smile. "Really. I-I'm not doing it just to make you two happy, Jack. I guess... we could try it once...?" If he didn't like it then... Jack and Marge could carry on without him. Naively he supposed that was how it would work—Bray didn't know, he'd never been in a situation where he had to think about being involved in a threesome.

Important might not be the word Jack would have chosen. He loved Marge, in a mostly platonic way. But she was off the walls crazy without a man in her life. And Jack thought he could help her with her options but she was too stubborn. There was nobody else in her life off the top of her head, apparently, that would work. And it would keep her from doing anything crazy to his student--the one that they hadn't figured out completely. But if he was dead, it might be better if Marge didn't go around having sex with him.

The idea was a bit macabre and maybe it was somebody's kink but he didn't think it was Marge's. At least he hoped not. She didn't seem that excited to make that revelation...

"Hopefully, once is all we'll need before she gets herself a man," he said and he kissed Brayden's forehead, because he didn't want Marge thinking if they all did it once, they were going at it again for the rest of their lives. Again... love her but. Full stop, he wanted Brayden and... he wanted Marge to be happy. He somehow didn't know that she could be if she wasn't loved by somebody who felt as deeply about her as Jack felt about Brayden--and he was sure Brayden felt about him. It wasn't a ranking system. It was just... how it was.

But then again, there was no saying that three people couldn't love each other that way, either. Ahh. Jack didn't want to spend his time philosophizing for once. Beyond the agreement regarding Marge, though...

"Do you think her plan will work? To find my brothers?"

"O-oh?"

Bray was lost. He accepted the kiss and almost out of habit kissed Jack back on the cheek but... what was happening now? Was he—Brayden Smith—the one agreeing to some kind of tentative agreement for a threesome and was Jack—Jack Ripley, sexiest man about town according to totally non-biased sources—slamming the door on it after one time?

Was

Was Bray

Being more open to this idea

Than Jack?

He sat there a little stunned, gazing off into space as he tried to think this one through. Not even over-think, just think. Think it through. Bray wasn't about to suggest that they marry Marge and welcome her to the family but...?

He snapped back when Jack brought the conversation back to his brothers, and the plan that Marge proposed. "Oh! Oh yeah. Yes, I think it—it's not a bad plan. We could at least try it." The kidnapping thing was a little sketchy but the rest of it, well... Why not? What did they have to lose at this point? Bray reached up to touch Jack's jaw, turning his face slightly so that he could kiss him properly. It was so... bizarre. Everything that happened today, purely bizarre.

But this kiss, it was the only thing that made sense. Their love made sense, irrespective of Marges and threesomes, Raphaels and crazy revelations about dark king fathers and unknown brothers. Their love was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that withstood the test of time. Bray stayed close to Jack after the kiss ended. A little mischievously, he leaned... leaned... leaned against Jack until they fell back on the bed, where he could curl up against his lover.

"Can we... take a moment to breathe?" If they could just have maybe five minutes, so they could feel normal again—so Bray could feel normal again...

"Yeah..."

Jack laid back with Brayden. Poor thing, he sounded exhausted. How could anybody blame him? Today had been... one hell of a day. And it seemed like things just kept coming flying at them, not giving them a moment to simply breathe.

"Yeah," he said again, closing his eyes. He understood exactly where Brayden was coming from. A lot really had happened in such a short time, for both of them. Brayden had been hurt so badly that he... died. Jack still didn't like thinking about it. Died or nearly died. He wondered if something similar had happened to Raphael, if they would be able to get to the bottom of it. But beyond that, the shit hitting the fan just wouldn't stop. Now there was apparently an evil father out to get them both and there were brothers to find and warn and save. And there were adopted sons to look after.

And damn if they didn't get any time alone to just... be.

Like this.

Jack turned his head toward Brayden to nuzzle him, to just breathe him in and soak in his presence. He didn't think he had ever been through such a thorough rollercoaster of emotions, not since he had discovered Keith was the real murderer all along. And that hadn't happened too long ago, either. Jack was still getting used to that information. And now all this other shit...

"I miss the days when we just had game nights," he said as he ran a thumb gently over Brayden's shoulder. "And it was just you and me and your popcorn."

It was one thing piled on top of another, piled on top of another. Bray didn't think he managed to breathe properly since the start of their afternoon date at the cafe, where that smiling young man propositioned them both! In between then and now, the world stopped making sense and neither Bray nor Jack had any time to sit down and think. Now, Bray knew that he was the over-thinker of the group and needed to do less of that, but this was borderline insane.

At least right now, there was a bit of time. He turned toward Jack, nuzzling him back, kissing him in lieu of a response at first. The kisses started out slow and remained slow. Loving. Just another way to show appreciation for his boyfriend, a way to let him know that even if nothing else ever made sense again, they still did. There was a port in this storm—this shitstorm, as Marge would have said—and it was within each other.

"We should still have game night." Just because Jack's crazy dark king father wanted to find him and bring him back into the fold, didn't mean their lives needed to be put on hold. They still needed something normal—one night in the week—to anchor them. Bray smiled, though, at the thought of their last game night. It sort of put everything into motion. Helped by Marge's wine.

"And you should still cheat to lose." He outright laughed there, as he stroked a line down Jack's jaw, down the side of his neck and over his shoulders. Bray couldn't help smiling at him. No one could ever tell him that this wasn't worth it. All the trouble they were in, the danger... It was still worth it just for this moment alone with Jack.

There were a million things he felt that they should cover, though. Some things he didn't want to share with Marge—as much as he loved her—and some things were definitely not meant for strangers like Raphael. Some things required thought and time to process, which he couldn't do when terrifying new developments kept happening. After a moment, his hands stilled and came to rest against Jack's jaw.

"Jack. Those visions we saw... There was one, I don't know if you had time to see it. It was us, and we were in a living room somewhere. I think it was another apartment or house? But we... you were reading to—I think they were our children. And I was sitting beside you, and there was a dog and a fireplace and..." Bray trailed off, smiling at the image that the vision left in his mind. They were a family. A real family, a whole, happy, complete family.

"Do you think... maybe... we could still have that? A family?"

"I do like watching you win..."

There were things Jack was competitive about but game night with Brayden was not one of those things. Honestly, most of the time, he didn't even really have to cheat to lose. That was just his cover for getting Brayden to bend down or to watch him get up. Then he'd play at switching cards or moving game pieces just to be playful. Not really caring if he won or lost. Just... enjoying himself.

That was what he missed. Being playful. In those moments, he wasn't thinking about the terrible secrets that ended up not being his. He was just Jack and Brayden was Brayden. And he was falling in love with him and a part of him knew he shouldn't but a part of him wanted it. So badly. And he did try. He tried not to, he tried to warn Brayden away. Now he wondered if he should have anyway. Things were turning out so bad.

But... he couldn't make himself believe that it was worthwhile to step back now. They had each other's backs. They had each other.

"Oh..." That one sounded... so familiar. Jack blinked, his hand going for Brayden's hand. "Yes... I saw something similar before. I think it was one of my first visions... I think that one's... for us. In this future."

Not another life but this one. And this one, because they were here now, living in it, was the important one.

"I think you liked dropping things and throwing things more," said Bray with a tiny note of disapproval in his voice, recalling the times that Jack Butterfingers Ripley let cards fly out of his hands or dropped little game pieces, and made Bray stoop to pick them up. Of course Bray did so, and quite good-naturedly, but sometimes he had suspicions. A few times he thought he caught Jack checking him out, and naturally he was quick to dismiss it as wishful thinking...

But now he thought maybe not. Definitely not. If Jack loved him, of course he would also check him out. Bray checked Jack out! (Especially when he was unclothed, and then he felt like a pervert and had to cover Jack up.)

Sighing, he turned his hand in order to hold Jack's, to pull it down to his chest and hold it there so that it could feel the beat of his heart. "Our future..." A brighter future than the present moment, with children, a home of their own, even a dog! Bray smiled but there was something a little... ticklish in his sinuses, and at the back of his throat and eyes. He cleared his throat softly.

"I think... You know, Jack, I think my parents knew. I mean, that you were innocent all along. I think they knew it even before we did, and they—she—my mother, I mean, tried to tell me that in her own way. She encouraged me to stay with you..." If she had known that Jack was a horrible monster, that he was responsible for killing all of those young men, she would never have let Bray stay with him. Yet, she did—she told him to be patient, to wait, to let Jack's truth come out naturally. Even if she didn't know for a fact, perhaps she sensed it. Or he sensed it, in his heart of hearts, and he refused to completely believe that Jack was... evil.

Yet Bray wavered. He dropped his gaze as the lump grew in his throat, recalling that horrible night when Jack's secrets tumbled out. In that moment Bray knew that he would never leave Jack, but... He wouldn't have agreed to start a family with him. If Jack had been responsible for those deaths, their future wouldn't have been this bright. Bray could not, in good conscience, bring a child into their lives with that hanging between them.

"They gave us their blessings. The last time I saw them, they... There was a door, you see. And they were on one side, and you and Marge were on the other side..." Bray paused to take in a shaky breath. He hadn't spoken of that day—the day he nearly died—since it happened and thankfully no one sought to press him. Perhaps they sensed that he wasn't ready yet to discuss what happened. This was one of those things that he wanted Jack to know about first, though, before anyone else—even Marge.

"They said that I could stay with them, or go back and I—I wanted to stay with them. So much. I was so happy seeing them again, being able to talk to them again, to hear their voices." He couldn't help it—the heat behind his eyes overflowed and he let it, thinking of his parents' voices, their smiles, the way they held his hand. Their love—he felt their love stronger than ever. "But they... they said I didn't need them anymore. And then I heard your voice. You told me you were crazy stupid in love with me."

Bray laughed through the tears, a sound half of joy, half of the sorrow of deep, significant loss. He couldn't help that either; his heart felt so full thinking of Jack, the way his voice sounded in that moment, full of passion and sincerity and love, too. So much love that it reached him even in the throes of death, to pull him back. "I miss them so much."

"Hm..." But there might have been the slightest lilt of amusement in the sound towards the end. So, he was that obvious, was he? Now, maybe. At the time, either Brayden was a Hollywood grade actor or he was realizing what it must have meant. Hey, he was a little bit desperate at the time; he was pining--as Marge would so say--and he wanted him and couldn't have him. That's what he kept telling himself. Plus, at the time, he couldn't tell if Brayden was even interested. Sometimes he said things... it sounded like he was. And then other times...

But he knew now. Without a shadow of a doubt.

Jack smiled as his hand was taken and held over Brayden's heart. He never told Brayden about how Marge showed him the light there and how it matched with his. The color, the beat. Sometimes, Jack wondered if that was the only thing that actually kept Brayden from dying that night. If his heart wasn't there, beating stronger and hard enough for the two of them...

But maybe that was just hubris.

Probably just hubris.

Jack fell silent as Brayden spoke, a melancholic tone threading his words as he spoke. The words were so hopeful but... they were also tinged in regret. His mother, Jack thought, must have known. She wouldn't have urged Brayden to stay with a murderer. Maybe in death, she saw her son's life, the rest of his life. His life with Jack. Maybe death was just a stop in the timeline but she stuck around to make sure her son was on the right path. So did that mean this was the right path? This? Them? Jack lightly ran his thumb over Brayden's hand, over the ridges of his knuckles.

The door part, though. What did that mean? He turned his head to get a better look at Brayden and his expression. A door...? Did that mean... that Brayden had been given a choice to follow his parents to death--or what came next--or Jack?

So why did he sound... like... he regretted his choice?

Jack swallowed hard, turning his head back, gaze swinging upward at the ceiling. Obviously, he didn't want to be the reason Brayden stayed alive if this was why. If his parents... Jack didn't know. It just felt wrong all of a sudden. Jack would choose Brayden first, of course, over his parents but... Brayden had good parents. Nice parents. Practically perfect parents. Why would he want to leave that behind... for this?

No, no. He couldn't think like that.

He wasn't the murdering piece of shit he once thought he was. But it took more than a little time to recover from feeling like one. He could be dealing with the repercussions of that for the rest of his life. And it made him wonder if it was even worth knowing if it was always going to haunt him.

It is. The peace of mind, the relief, the absolute joy he felt when he realized that it wasn't him, that it was never him! But, he was still somewhat responsible. He was close to those people. He loved those people, just like he loved Brayden now. But this time, it'll be different. Jack knew things now. He had friends on his side. Powerful friends. But then, so did Keith, apparently. And Keith himself was nothing to sneeze at, either. Jack took in a deep, deep breath, trying not to let the conflicting emotions inside suffocate him.

"I did say that," he said, hating that Brayden was in tears. Even though he laughed... it was such a sad sound. Not hollow. But not happy, either. Jack moved closer, nuzzling Brayden, kissing his throat because that was where his lips happened to be. Lifting his head to kiss his chin. Tilting his head so that their lips met.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. He wasn't usually the apologizing type. Brayden had that trait under lock. But he was truly sorry for Brayden's loss. Although he wasn't around when they died and had nothing to do with it, he was sorry that Brayden didn't have them at his side anymore, that they weren't with him, that they wouldn't be around to meet any children they might ever have. Or even... him. Although...

"I saw her for a few seconds," Jack confessed. "When you... were pulled into that weird golden dream thing. I was there. Not long but long enough to see her. She radiated so much warmth..."

It seemed like an easy choice, a choice that in storybooks would have been made without hesitation. In fairy tales he would have opened that door and stepped right out into Jack's arms, and he wouldn't have looked back because who would choose death over life? Who in their right mind would want to stay with their parents over the man who loved him?

But this... it wasn't a fairy tale. It wasn't a fictional tale. It was Bray's life, his loss. The kind of love that he lost when he lost his parents couldn't be expressed. It was so profound, it formed a permanent scar in his heart that no one and nothing else could ever erase. And a part of him would always wonder—what if. What if he stayed with them, in that warm and golden place? What if he didn't come back, and let death claim him in favor of a peaceful afterlife?

They offered him a choice: stay or go. He heard Jack's voice and the decision seemed to be made for him and so even if he sounded sorrowful, even if the tears that he shed seemed to indicate regret, he didn't regret his choice. He walked away from the kind of warm, accepting, unconditional love that he had always known to test his heart with a strange, foreign, new love. He stepped through that door, back to Jack, back to this life that he was living now.

"Thank you."

He let Jack comfort him because he needed it right now. Bray needed that soft kiss to the base of his throat, to his chin, to his lips. He needed someone to try and understand his loss and to be sympathetic in the moment, and Jack was perfectly suited to the task. No, Jack didn't know how it felt to lose parents who loved him, and whom he loved, but he didn't have to. The sound of his voice, the soothing kisses, the way he came closer so that their bodies could curl around one another, offering silent strength of a different kind, was more than enough.

Bray lifted a hand to wipe at his damp eyes, smiling through the tears. "She wanted to meet you, I think. That's why she let you in. I remember it. We were sitting with her, right? And I asked you if we were best friends... and you said yes." He laughed again, this time a slightly happier sound. "She liked you. I know she did. I told her about you before we became friends, in the few times I saw her in my dreams. And she didn't like Wyatt, you know, even if she let me make my own mistakes with him. But she liked you. They both did." If they didn't, they wouldn't have given their blessings for Bray to return to Jack. He knew that for a fact; they wouldn't have urged him to return to the land of the living, when they loved him so much that he knew... they wanted him to stay even more than he did. Infinitely more than he did.

"But they were right, Jack. I don't need them anymore... because I have you." He tipped his head forward to kiss Jack again, a sad little, sweet little kiss. "I'm so glad you didn't... kill all those people. And I'm sorry I ever—ever thought you could have."

"Yes."

He remembered that, the best friend question. The answer. He remembered the warmth and the golden aura about everything. Somehow, he hadn't realized it was a death dream. Jack didn't know if he ever would have experienced any such thing at all. Whatever fairy type he was, it didn't appear to be the same as Brayden. Which... was good right? It meant they weren't related in any way. But he had to wonder if there were some kind of politics about this. Being the son of a man who wanted to rend the wings from all fairies and him, being in love with the nicest fairy he'd ever met...

Kind of... bad news.

But nothing they couldn't at least try and handle.

"Maybe she did know me," he mused as he thought it over, about Brayden's mother liking him when he was just somebody Brayden talked about. So... Brayden talked to his parents--or at least his mother--about him, did he? What kinds of things did he say? Did he tell her about that weird story he was writing where, for some reason, Jack was the villain? Jack's lips quirked into a twitch of a smile before he glanced over at Brayden in amusement. He was going to have to ask about that.

Not yet, though.

Gladly, Jack accepted the kiss and he smiled into it before kissing Brayden back. He reached up and stroked his hair. His heart wrenched a little, though.

"Yeah..." He hated thinking about it. About what he perceived he had done. For so long, he held onto so much pain. Although it lifted with the realization it wasn't him... It had hollowed him out for a good long portion of his life.

"...and I can't blame you, Brayden... I thought I did it, too." His voice softened. "But I'm glad it wasn't me. The nightmares... There were so many times I..."

Jack had been haunted for so long by crimes he thought he committed. Bray couldn't even begin to imagine what sort of psychological damage that would do, what horrors still laid in wait when he closed his eyes and let that unconscious part of his brain that had been twisted and manipulated take over. None of that was Jack, though. Jack didn't do any of the things his memories claimed; it was Keith, by all accounts, who committed those murders and then tried to pin them all on Jack.

It still made Bray's skin crawl to think that anyone would go to those lengths just to... to drive another man mad. What was the end-game there? Bray refused to believe that Keith did it out of anything other than purely evil intent. Even if he tried to lay claim over Jack, even if his words from that night still echoed in Bray's thoughts, he could never be convinced that this was love—twisted or not. It was malice. Pure and simple.

"It's okay..." He reached out to drift his fingers over Jack's hair, stroking the side of his head comfortingly. "You don't have to talk about it now, if you don't want to. I just—you know I'm here if you ever feel like talking."

There was nothing he couldn't tell Bray—nothing he could reveal that would drive Bray away. He had a feeling there was more, but he wasn't trying to push Jack into spilling out all of his innermost thoughts. Things like this took time to accept, to adjust to, to think through fully. Even Bray had a hard time accepting that Jack was the killer, and then to suddenly be told that he wasn't, and all of his memories were a lie. The shock hadn't fully worn off yet, either, and with all of these new revelations he had a hard time catching up.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," he confessed, eyes half closing. Brayden's hands were nice things, nice on his hair, nice on his skin. Hard to believe anything about Brayden Smith wasn't nice, though. And he knew Brayden meant what he said and that he would listen but Jack didn't know what to say. He didn't know where to begin--just like he said.

There was a lot to unpack. Plus, there was already a mountain of problems currently crushing the both of them. Did he really need to add onto that right now? Brayden was grieving. He'd just lost his parents, for good this time. The last thing he needed to hear was the details of the nightmares, how Jack knew how each one of those boys died and how it still felt like they died at his hands. How he woke with their blood spattered over him, their blood on his hands. How after a while, he just believed that was who he was and he would just... find people like poor Alejo and fuck like monsters.

Because he thought he was a monster. He felt like a monster. It would probably take the rest of his damn life to put that behind him. And he wondered if he had the strength in him to do it. When Brayden was close like this, he felt like he could. But what about when they weren't together?

"Have I closed the door to my nightmares, Brayden?" he asked, recalling the warnings his student had given him more than once. Even if his status as a person was under speculation, Raphael seemed pretty adamant about that part. Closing his nightmares to him. A crease formed between his brows.

"But what if he's in there and I close the door? What if I lock him in there with me? Is... that a thing?"

Bray wouldn't know where to start, either. Honestly trying to cram a lifetime of horror into one single discussion didn't seem rational or reasonable—which was why he wasn't asking Jack for more than he was ready to share. Bits and pieces would leak out slowly, he was sure. When the thoughts came to Jack, when it was time to share them, Bray would be here with an open mind—and a shoulder to lean on, if needed. That was what it meant to love someone, opening up his whole heart to them, letting them in and letting himself be vulnerable—creating a safe space for them be vulnerable, too, with him. 

"It's okay. Take your time," he murmured again, still reassuringly, still soothingly touching Jack's hair, his jaw, his face, admiring his features with the tips of his fingers. Touch was such a wonderful thing. The warmth of another human hand doing something as mundane as passing a thumb over the rise of a cheekbone could convey so much more than words. Bray shifted closer in order to draw Jack closer, so that he could wrap his arms around him and protect him from all of those terrible, stark nightmares that came to plague him in the dead of night.

"I don't know if it's possible to lock him out fully, Jack. He's had so many years to map out the layout of your mind..." Keith probably knew more ways in than they could imagine. He had free reign all those years, coming and going as he pleased, probably leaving himself cracks and secret hidden pathways. Bray was adept at weaving through dreams but even he didn't have the expertise to close up all of those cracks and so... unfortunately, the sad truth was that Keith would probably always have access to Jack's dreams.

"But I promise. I'll wake you up any time you have another nightmare." The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Even if it means pouring cold water over you." Something he refused to do when they first met—and something he still wouldn't do, because there were other, gentler ways of pulling Jack out of his nightmares.

Jack grimaced; that was what he was afraid of; that there was no way to lock Keith out of his mind or his nightmares for good. The idea that he had a map of his mind worried him. Just thinking about it made his palms feel chilled and itchy and he swallowed hard. Keith had a map of his mind; he didn't need a key. He could brute force his way inside if he wanted to, because he knew where all the weak parts were.

"There has to be a way..." he murmured, toying with Brayden's hand, feeling his fingers down to their length, feeling his palm with his own fingertips. There had to be some way of barricading himself safely from him. That or just... getting rid of him.

Jack didn't doubt that Brayden would save him somehow from his nightmares. But he couldn't expect Brayden to be there, awake every second that Jack was sleeping. Of course, he had that dream walking ability of his, which meant he could maybe keep him safe even while they were both asleep. But Jack didn't much like the idea of the two of them meeting up in there. (And what would happen if they did?!)

"I can't believe how long it took me to see through him, B. He was never a nice guy. But I thought..." He shrugged one shoulder in embarrassment at admitting to the following: "I thought he loved me. I was kind of an idiot at that age, though."

"I'm sure there is a way, I'm... not an expert. We can find someone to help. Maybe Raphael, he seemed to know a little." At least he knew enough to tell Jack to close off his dreams, so there had to be more. Maybe they could consult a sage... If there were still any about, that was. Bray would of course do his utmost to help Jack, in any way that he could, but here unfortunately he was out of his depth.

Still. It was possible. It had to be!

He smiled down at Jack's little shoulder twist, the embarrassment in his tone coloring his words. "You couldn't have known his true intentions, Jack. How could you? He... He was playing with your mind, with your thoughts and memories. And you had no defense against him." Bray lightly kissed the tip of his nose. His handsome nose, on his handsome face. "It was never your fault. None of it was ever your fault, Jack."

"That's true..." But Jack didn't want to say that he had his misgivings about Raphael, that the reason Marge left with him was to find out more about what he knew. Jack wanted to trust the kid; he was such a happy-go-lucky kid and he seemed earnest. Jack meant it when he promised him but he didn't know the whole story then. (Honestly, he still didn't know it.)

"And... I know... I just..." He felt like a fool. But he had been a kid back then, and an impressionable one at that. One that desired affection more than anything else. Even the worst attention was attention. His mother didn't even give him that most of the time. It was better to hear her berate him than to suffer her silence. So he turned to Keith. First love. And really, really really bad for him. As it turned out, way worse than even he knew.

He ran a hand over Brayden's wrist and up his arm.

"I'm just afraid he's going to do something to you next." He swallowed hard. "It wasn't me... but I still got all those people killed. And... now that vision. That person claiming to be my father... A lot of people want your head, B. That scares me."

Bray imagined that Jack felt like he did, when he and Wyatt broke up. Even though Bray knew full well at the time that Wyatt treated him badly, that he cheated on him, that he was only using Bray, it didn't stop him from wanting love. To love someone, to be loved, to have their attention and affection and time, no matter how pitiful that was or how little of any of those things were given. Scraps to some could mean the world to others. Those who had nothing, when given even a little, meant a lot.

So he understood the embarrassment, the ruefulness, the regret. But Jack was better than that now. He had real love—true love, not only from Bray but from his friends, too, like Marge and Allie. There was a real network of support around him to lift him up and not to tear him down the way Keith had been doing for so many years. Bray knew that Jack was aware of what he had, too; otherwise he wouldn't feel the way he did.

"I know." Bray was in the way. He closed his eyes briefly, swallowed, let his thoughts collect and really sink in. A lot of people wanted him gone. Keith went so far as to try and kill him—and damn well near succeeded too! Jack's father assaulted him from far away, warning him against continuing to stay with Jack and yet... "I'm not afraid." He opened his eyes and looked at Jack with a sort of dawning realization. "I... I'm not leaving you for anything, Jack. We'll just have to be careful, that's all."

How could he leave all of this behind? The way Jack looked at him, the way he touched him, his kisses, his warmth and his adoration and humor and spirit, everything that was Jack Ripley made Bray glad to be alive. Made him feel more alive than he ever had. He couldn't leave now, not when he had finally found his heart's desire in Jack. Bray kissed him softly and he smiled coming out of it. "We'll protect each other. No matter what they throw at us, as long as we're together, I'm sure we'll be fine."

How could he not be afraid? Jack was petrified. He was going to lose everything he ever had and if he did... if he lost Brayden... he didn't think he could ever be the same afterward. In fact, he would rather die than see a world without Brayden. When he waited those hours and hours for Brayden to come to after what happened with Keith before... Jack couldn't do it. Face the world without him? Even with good, supportive friends in the world, what was left without Brayden, if he took all the color and magic with him?

"Hm..."

Jack frowned. It wasn't as if he was telling Brayden to leave him or that they shouldn't be together. The target was already painted on Brayden's back, whether they were together or not. But... He wondered... He wondered in silence, staring into the middle distance as he toyed with Brayden's hand again. What would happen if Jack surrendered, though? If he did what his father wanted and left to become a fallen in the fairy realm? There would no longer be a point in hunting or harming Brayden, would there?

He lowered his gaze, the knot in his throat tightening with the thought. At the same time as Brayden spoke of never leaving him, Jack was considering leaving. What was wrong with him? His eyes shuttered closed as he was kissed. Sweet. Loving. And when he slowly opened his eyes, Brayden was smiling at him so gently. Jack ran a hand over Brayden's stomach around his waist to hold onto him, to hold him close as he turned more towards him.

"Together." He had his misgivings. But he wanted to believe so desperately.

"I'm not giving up on us, Jack." Bray turned into Jack, letting his eyes close again as he breathed him in and nuzzled against his temple. "I'm not—they're not breaking us."

They were bound. They bound one another by the exchange of their True names and so they were destined to be together. They had lived all of those lifetimes, the ones in the visions, sometimes apart but more often together. Fate and the universe had a plan in mind for them but Bray didn't think it was to wedge them apart. They had the proof of concept to go with his words—they had spent many, many good lifetimes in each other's arms and Bray had to believe that this was was no different.

He whispered Jack's True name, right beside his ear, a secret only meant for Bray. That name had power—it was a contract for their souls, signed in love and devotion and fierce determination not to let anyone come between them. And by the gods, Bray was going to fight tooth and nail to keep them together. He had never been infused with so much purpose. He had never felt this strongly before and not only that, but felt compelled to act—to be proactive rather than to sit back and let life trample all over him.

"Don't ever give up on us. Okay?"

He held Brayden tighter and closed his eyes as Brayden spoke his True Name into his ear. Burying his head into the crook of his neck, he breathed him in. Don't give up. He couldn't give up. They had given themselves fully to one another and Brayden didn't want to give up. It... wouldn't be fair for Jack to just give up on him now. And that was exactly what he'd be doing if he surrendered in order to try and save Brayden.

It wouldn't save him, would it? Even if it left him alive, he could only imagine how much it would kill Brayden for Jack to just walk into the arms of the enemy, especially if he did it in the name of Brayden himself. That wasn't what he wanted for him. For them.

"I won't," he said against Brayden's throat before kissing him reverently there. His eyes closed. "Don't let me give up on us. Keep reminding me."